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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26751796">🎠Breaking the Hourglass Two💠</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyofblue_seaofgreen/pseuds/skyofblue_seaofgreen'>skyofblue_seaofgreen</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Breaking the Hourglass [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Beatles (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Enjoy!, I just completely forgot to do tags, john is an idiot for 40 minutes, mclennon but platonically????, not a lot of filler!, oh boy here we go again, two Pauls double the joy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:15:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>28,197</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26751796</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyofblue_seaofgreen/pseuds/skyofblue_seaofgreen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Another blast from the past two years after the events of Breaking the Hourglass! After Paul returns from his harrowing journey to rescue John, George, and Brian from death, he realizes that there are many more horrible events he could prevent from even happening. Paul and John return to the dangers and excitements of time travel to discover deeper feelings, perilous adventures, and a great time all around.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>George Harrison &amp; Ringo Starr, John Lennon &amp; Paul McCartney, John Lennon/Cynthia Lennon, John Lennon/Paul McCartney, Paul McCartney/Jane Asher</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Breaking the Hourglass [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948231</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>61</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Around and Back Again</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>October 1966 was especially cold this year, and even though the temperatures were still lower than ever before, that didn’t stop the normality of Beatlemania to come in full-force.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>57 Wimpole Street was exactly the same, and though Paul and Jane had both promised each other a hundred times they’d call to get the infamous crevice fixed, it hadn’t happened. So every time Paul needed to go somewhere (which was pretty often), he’d have to very carefully step over the crevice and pray that he wouldn’t trip. If he did, who knew what year he would travel to? It was a gamble.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He spent plenty of hours looking over the long, massive scar he’d gotten from James, and wondering how the poor boy was doing now. It was so terribly strange, everything that had happened, and even though it </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>been fulfilling to save three of his friends that would have died without him, he never wanted to go through that whole ordeal ever again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ever.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Life was relatively normal now. Well, as normal as it could get for a Beatle. Paul played music, he went on tour, he wrote, he did interviews, he played music, he went on tour, he wrote...he…Well, normal as in</span>
  <em>
    <span> boring.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, you may be wondering: how could Paul’s life be boring? He was probably one of the most famous people in the world at the moment. Some people would do anything just to spend five minutes with him. And he was feeling...bored? It didn’t seem fair, in a way. Most people in the world had a 9-5 job and two kids and a spouse and that was all they did every </span>
  <em>
    <span>single day.</span>
  </em>
  <span> But Paul was finding that having </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> job was getting to be the same thing every day as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So how could he...spice it up? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul stared out at the crevice on the first day of October, feeling as dismal as the rain that was pouring down into the gutter in great watery sheets. He sighed, staring at the book he’d been reading. Nothing seemed appealing today. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jane was out with her friends, as she was doing more </span>
  <em>
    <span>often</span>
  </em>
  <span> recently, and she’d left Paul alone at home. Since it was a Sunday, nothing very interesting was going on either. He sighed, melting down into the chair he was sitting in. Maybe he could call somebody? He owed Jim a ring...but he didn’t want to talk to his father who was probably just going to ask him the same questions he always did: ‘How are you?’ ‘When’s your new...doo-dad comin’ out?’ ‘How’s Jane?’ and ‘Anything interesting going on?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul sighed. The only thing he could think to do at the moment was have his third sandwich of the day. But even that didn’t seem appealing. Maybe he could make toast then? With cinnamon? He was sure there was some left…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” he grumbled, padding down the stairs to the kitchen. He wished he had one of those fancy cell-phones they had in the future. The only thing they had </span>
  <em>
    <span>here</span>
  </em>
  <span> was books, paper, and television. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he wasn’t going back there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul sighed, taking out a piece of bread and popping it into the toaster. The television in the next room ahead of him looked enticing to turn on, but he was sure it would just be as dreary as the day around it was. He flinched as the toaster finished a lot louder than usual and turned around to get the bread.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, the phone rang, and Paul jumped. It had been awfully quiet before that, which may have been the reason he could hear it from all the way upstairs. He tossed his bread on a plate and headed up to get the phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” he said, sitting down in the chair he’d abandoned a few minutes earlier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” John’s deflated voice came through the speaker. It was quite odd to hear him like that, and Paul’s concerned senses heightened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you alright?” he said slowly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” John replied, and then sighed. “Well, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>guess</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul narrowed his eyes. “You don’t sound alright,” he said. It always took quite a bit of pulling and tugging for John to tell anyone what was going wrong in his head. “Did something happen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, nothing happened,” John replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was Paul’s turn to sigh. “Johnny, nobody is around to hear this conversation. You can tell me anything you want,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a moment of silence before John answered: “Macca, I...I miss my mother,” he said. “It’s been eight years since she died. I just want her back…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something stirred in Paul’s gut and he leaned back against the chair. John missed his mother. It was reasonable. John had been missing his mother Julia since she died in 1958. He always came to Paul with his heartache, and since they both had lost mothers at a young age it felt good to be able to discharge their emotions. “Oh, Johnny,” Paul sighed. “I know it. Do you want to come over so we can talk?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John’s voice brightened a little bit. “Yeah. Is anyone there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Jane’s out with her friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. I’ll...I’ll be there in 10.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul set the phone down with a sigh. He supposed he might as well get into real clothes now since somebody was coming over, though he doubted John would really care. He shuffled to the closet and pulled out the usual: button-up, plain white shirt and dark pants. As he was pulling the last leg on he heard the back door open. John never rang the doorbell…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul hesitated before going down, wondering how he should greet him. John was feeling low, so he shouldn’t be all joyful and go </span>
  <em>
    <span>heyyy,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but he didn’t want to pity him because he knew John hated that with a passion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But before he could decide John was coming up the stairs. His eyes were rimmed with red and it was obvious he’d been upset earlier. “Cheers,” he muttered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul blinked a few times. “What happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John immediately fell into Paul’s armchair with a defeated sigh. “I dunno...Cyn was talking about her mother, and how she used to do this odd habit.” he said. “And then I remembered </span>
  <em>
    <span>Julia</span>
  </em>
  <span> used to do that, and then it just depressed me all over again. I swear, Paul, it’s like even the mention of a woman with kids gets me all messed up these days!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul nodded. “Yeah, I know. It’s hard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is,” John closed his eyes. “I wish I could just...go back in time and save her. Like the movies, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul gritted his teeth and nodded. “Yeah,” he said, staring out at the crevice. If only John knew what it could do, if only he knew that what he wished for was available if he would just go outside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it couldn’t be </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> big of a deal, could it, though? If they went back and saved Julia? It would help John with all his frustrations and worries and woes because he would not </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> them anymore. “John,” Paul said before he was ready, turning to face him. “Your wish might just come true yet.” He stood up straight. “Follow me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John stared at Paul like he was crazy. “The hell is going on, Macca? Where are we going?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To save Julia from ever dying.” Paul replied as the two scrambled down the stairs like children called to dinner. “It’s as easy as tripping over a curb. C’mon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the…” John squinted as Paul opened the door to reveal the rain-soaked sidewalk. “Oh, you have </span>
  <em>
    <span>got</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be</span>
  <em>
    <span> kidding me, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Macca.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll prove it to ya!” Paul stepped outside, immediately getting drenched in rain. “This crevice...right? This crevice has time-traveling powers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John stared down at the long jagged crevice in the ground and then peered up at Paul. “Are you high or what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I swear! I’ve done it before,” Paul promised. “It’s easy, and it doesn’t even hurt. Do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> Julia to get hit by that car or not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Irritation filled up John’s brown eyes. He began to raise his voice and pointed with a scornful finger at the fateful crevice. “I don’t know what kind of </span>
  <em>
    <span>sick </span>
  </em>
  <span>joke this is, but you’re being awfully insensitive right now, and—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How long do you think clouds last, John?” Paul muttered under his breath. “Do you think...eight years?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul took a chance and grabbed John’s hand, tugging him forward as they both tumbled over the jagged surface and into the pool of black.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. How to Cool a Dumpster Fire</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Paul didn’t wake up on the sidewalk this time, surprisingly. He opened his eyes and blinked a few times, sitting up and pushing back his hair. It felt oddly greasy, and he made a face as he let it frizz up again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked around to see where he’d landed, and was surprised to find his old bedroom in Jim’s house. Everything was the exact same as eight years ago, which meant...he’d made it. Not that he expected not to, of course. But it was still strange. It had been two years since he’d time traveled. Maybe he had...forgotten how to do it. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> been a bit jarring to land eight years in the past for the first time in a long while. He had to get his bearings for a second.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul glanced over at the mirror on the wall. He was 16 again, with the same pink-tinted baby face and slicked up black hair. He grimaced, remembering when he thought that had been attractive. Well, it wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>repulsive,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but…he could have done better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he remembered John.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiled, shaking his head. The poor dear was probably terrified out of his mind at the moment; Paul needed to call him. It was 8:51 am at the moment. He stared at the calendar he’d tacked to the wall. July 14th, 1958. One day before Julia’s death.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul sighed, getting out of his warm, comfortable bed. A quick check under his shirt revealed the long scar from the car, a little pinker and new since it happened relatively recently. He padded out into the sun-lit hallway anyway and picked up the phone, sleepily dialing the number to the Smith’s house. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It rang for a moment, then two, then three. Paul nearly jumped when someone finally picked it up. “Hello?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was Mimi! She hardly sounded like she’d changed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Mi…” Paul trailed off, remembering that he’d only known John for a year in 1958. He still called her Mrs. Smith. “...iss Smith.” He said with a sigh of relief, glad that he’d caught himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Paul,” Mimi responded, quick as a flash. “Can I help you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“May I talk to John please?” Paul said, trying to be polite.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose so. But he’s been acting quite strange all morning, I don’t know if he’ll be able to hold a proper conversation with you,” she said. Paul hadn’t remembered how eloquently she spoke. She never paused or faltered at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, that’s...concerning,” Paul said. “Maybe I can knock some sense into him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mimi chuckled briefly. “Yes.” There was a moment of quiet before the phone was passed to somebody else. Paul waited for the person on the other end to talk. “Macca?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Paul said, rocking on his heels. It was strange, he never did that anymore, but he supposed his old habits from when he was 16 were ingrained in his body at the moment. “How are ya?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re from...1966, right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Paul responded. “Are you?” He scowled. This was such a bizarre conversation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I...I just woke up here and I had no clue what to do.” John sounded less panicked now. “I didn’t think you were actually...right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I always am.” Paul rolled his eyes. “What have you been doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno...well I nearly bloody screamed when I figured out what had happened, and then I just...tried my best to act like I hadn’t just skipped eight years into the past.” John replied, frustration thick in his voice. “What have</span>
  <em>
    <span> you</span>
  </em>
  <span> been doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just got up,” Paul said. “I haven’t seen my da’ or Mike yet. I’m...sort of hoping I won’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well..it’s harder to communicate with other people when you time travel,” Paul shrugged, “without letting them know something’s up. I just try and avoid people who are...not </span>
  <em>
    <span>necessary</span>
  </em>
  <span> for me to talk to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a good idea,” John sighed. “Wish I’d done</span>
  <em>
    <span> that</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It’s so hard not to just tell Mimi what’s happening. She’s prying like mad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul grinned. “Alright, so...do you wanna come here, or what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anything to get away from Mimi,” John said with a little laugh. “It’s so odd...I don’t have a car or a bike or anythin’. I guess I used to just...</span>
  <em>
    <span>walk</span>
  </em>
  <span> everywhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you can’t see,” Paul said with a nod.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>won’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>wear those damn glasses!” John snapped. “They look terrible. They don’t even help…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul laughed. “You’d still be stuck in a cupboard without ‘em.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See you in a bit!” Paul hung up the phone and sighed, going back into his room and shutting the door gently behind him. He needed to have a good long think.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Last time he’d visited the ‘50s, there had been two of him. James and...him. But </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span> there was only one, at least...he was pretty sure there was only one. So why had there been two before? He sighed, mulling it over in his head. You know, he’d time traveled</span>
  <em>
    <span> four</span>
  </em>
  <span> times now, he should know how these things worked. Maybe he’d figure it out later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul shrugged on some clothes and brushed his horribly frizzy mock-pompadour. He remembered having to grease it up every day...how annoying that was! But today he was rather excited to be able to do it again. He made sure it was perfect before slowly and carefully going down the stairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was almost silent in the house, but he realized with a sinking feeling that he could hear Jim making his morning cuppa in the kitchen. His father was a relatively quiet man, but Paul was trained to be able to hear him after so many nights of sneaking out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hoping Jim wouldn’t want to talk, he shuffled into the kitchen and immediately opened the cupboard door so wide it would cover his head. Unfortunately, he heard Jim’s gruff voice addressing him. “Didn’t you just go out a minute ago?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul’s eyes grew wide. “No,” he said quickly, hoping Jim wouldn’t follow up with a contradictory statement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could have sworn you just walked out that door when I came down,” Jim replied, not wavering. “No, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> you did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You must have been seein’ things…” Paul shrugged. “You should get that checked out, da’...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t need to get </span>
  <em>
    <span>anythin’</span>
  </em>
  <span> checked </span>
  <em>
    <span>out</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Jim grumbled. His aversion to the doctor’s was showing. But he didn’t say anything else and left Paul in peace to pour a bowl of probably stale corn flakes, just watched him with a careful eye. He then muttered ‘I could have</span>
  <em>
    <span> sworn</span>
  </em>
  <span>…’ and then left the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul sighed in relief, running a hand through his hair. Crisis averted. So James had gone out before Paul came down, thank god. But Paul had to make sure he wouldn’t return. He sighed and hoped this could all be sorted out properly, as it usually was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The back door opened with a creak, and Paul practically leaped to the other end of the table, hoping and praying it wouldn’t be James. He watched as an auburn-topped head came into the word, steps confident and calculated. “Macca?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>John.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “You scared the </span>
  <em>
    <span>crap</span>
  </em>
  <span> out of me!” Paul said angrily, standing up. “I thought you were me…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John blinked a few times. “Nope,” he said. “Sort of wish I was, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul ignored that. “So how was the trip? Are you hurt anywhere?” he said, checking John’s head over as he squirmed away like an annoyed child. “Your head, maybe?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I’m alright,” John said. “But I have so many questions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did, too,” Paul sighed. “But we don’t have a lot of time to explain here. We need to get somewhere where my younger self would never see me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” John said back, eyes glinting with worry. “There’s two of you, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yea,” Paul said. “Come on, let’s go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They left the house and began hurrying down the sidewalk as fast as they possibly could. The sky was a perfect blue, and it was strangely warm for Liverpool. “Do you think there are two of me?” John asked after a while.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably, if there are of me,” Paul replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John paused, and a sneaky grin spread across his face. Paul scowled. “What are you plottin’, Lennon?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothin’,” John replied, but the grin stayed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul let it go for a moment, but then changed his mind and whirled around. “You listen here, Johnny,” he said, pointing his finger like a nagging mother. “You can’t do </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> to bug your younger self here, alright? It could mess everythin’ up!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t going to!” John said defensively. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul glared at him. “Are you sure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John nodded shortly. “I’m sure, Macca, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>promise</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul sighed as they went on. He was filled with an odd sort of nostalgic warmth as he passed by the houses and neighbors he knew so well. He wanted to go around and see what he could find in the daytime, but he had something important to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I remember when I ran over her flower garden,” John said, pointing towards a few green buds poking out of somebody’s soil. “She was </span>
  <em>
    <span>pissed</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could imagine so,” Paul answered. But those flowers hadn’t even grown yet. It was so odd! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stared across the street at the other houses. Each one was so perfectly neat in a row; with the same brown brick and red door with two laurel bushes beside each one. It looked nice, but...it was so boring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, Paul felt his collar being tugged as John pulled him around behind somebody’s fence. “What?” Paul hissed as John peered through an opening in the wood. “What did you see?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You!” John whispered back. “He was ridin’ his bike and I think he might have seen us!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul’s eyes grew wide as he pushed John out of the way to see. Indeed, the older James had stopped and was now staring at the place Paul and John had been walking, suspicion in his eyes. “Shit,” Paul whispered. “I should have been more careful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s gonna happen now?” John asked, but Paul waved his hand to quiet him for the moment. James was still trying to decide if he should go over to investigate, and Paul prayed he would just leave it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is he comin’ over?” John said tentatively.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul shook his head. “But he might.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John made an </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>-shape with his mouth and shifted on his feet, sitting down in the grass. Meanwhile, Paul sighed in relief as James slowly mounted his bicycle again, putting his shoes on the pedals.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank </span>
  <em>
    <span>god</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Paul sighed, standing up. “I thought he was goin’ ta </span>
  <em>
    <span>see</span>
  </em>
  <span> us, and I don’t know what we would have done then…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why couldn’t we have just explained it to ‘im?” John asked, brushing the dirt off of his orange checked shirt. “It wouldn’t be </span>
  <em>
    <span>tha’</span>
  </em>
  <span> consequential.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It might.” Paul said, jumping over the fence. “He could go off and tell you, and then you’d freak out, and then you would tell Mimi, and—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t tell Mimi,” John said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I meant your </span>
  <em>
    <span>other</span>
  </em>
  <span> self.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh…” John nodded. “Wait, but...wouldn’t he just go mad over the fact that there are two of him in the first place? He doesn’t know ya time-traveled. Does he?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, he does,” Paul said. “It’s a lot to go into, but...I’ll just say tha’...we may have saved each other’s lives when I came back here before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John’s eyes flashed with curiosity. “Really? How did tha’ go? And what were ya doin’ back here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll explain later, promise,” Paul said. “But right now we need to make sure nobody sees us. Any imprint we make here could damage a lot of things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, yer so well-behaved!” John rolled his eyes. “Have some </span>
  <em>
    <span>fun</span>
  </em>
  <span> once in a while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul scoffed. “Oh, Johnny, if you only knew…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They finally found a spot by the old Strawberry Field, which was wild and overgrown now. John’s eyes still shone with childhood wonder as he brushed his hands over the tall grass. “This is perfect,” he said. “I used to scale the wall during school and play with the kids here...then they finally ratted me out. Mimi said they were goin’ to hang me next time they saw me doin’ it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Nothing to get hung about,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” hummed Paul as he stepped through the old field.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Strawberry fields forever…” </span>
  </em>
  <span>John sang in reply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, I quite like that,” Paul said, tilting his head back to John. “We should finish that up. Record it, maybe?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Definitely.” John said. They were approaching a little brown stream that ran through the surrounding trees. John jumped up onto a stump and began climbing into one, their great branches bowing under his weight. “You can see so much from up here, y’know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can ya?” Paul said, watching as John got higher and higher. He decided to follow him, grabbing onto the coarse trunk of the tree and pushing himself up onto the first and second branches. The little twigs made his palms sting, and he winced as he got up to the branch below John. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ya got it?” his friend said, tilting his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yea,” Paul replied. He lifted his hands to grab onto John’s branch but didn’t expect him to just grab Paul’s arms and lift him up beside him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul’s face glowed bright red as he brushed himself off. “Oh, yea,” he huffed. “I forgot you’re still bigger than me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John’s eyes sparkled in the morning sunlight. “You haven’t gotten your extra inches in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul laughed, still embarrassed. “Sure,” he said. “But we have to think of what we’re gonna do tomorrow. We need to keep Julia from dying but keep ourselves from getting hurt too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah,” John nodded. There was a moment of silence before he narrowed his eyes. “Do you not have any ideas?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not yet,” Paul said. “Do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> said you’ve done this before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul leaned back. “Yeah, I guess,” he shrugged. “But it’s...been a while.” He scratched his jawline and sighed. “I mean, it’s simple. All we have to do is keep Julia from walking in front of that car.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I was gone when she got hit…” John said, his voice suddenly growing dull. “I was at Blomfield. But I came back and Mimi was cryin’ like crazy. She...she said she was gone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul curled his hand around the tree branch. “Do you know what time it was…?” he said softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was around 6:30 or 7?” John said. “At night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, okay,” Paul said. “So we have plenty of time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yea. Maybe...maybe </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> could come over while I’m at Blomfield and keep her distracted when the car passes.” John said. “It would be a perfect plan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me?” Paul echoed, a bit startled. He was hoping John would want to help, but he didn’t expect the plan to be forced upon him. “Um...okay. I mean, it would work if everything went according to plan. I’ll have to be extra careful, though, and I don’t know if I’ll choose my words right...I…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Paul.” John cut him off. “You’ll do fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But what if I mess up? What if she dies?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’ll be alright,” John said. “We’ll just try again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul sighed and closed his eyes. John had wanted to try again last time, when they’d missed Brian dying in ‘67, and it had worked. So maybe...maybe if they </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> have to try again, it would succeed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul narrowed his eyes and nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. I Can Only Speak My Mind</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“See, I <em> knew </em> you were here, Paul!”</p><p>Paul nearly jumped from his tree branch. He and John both stared down at a black-haired boy, face lit up by the sun. It was James! Paul sighed, closing his eyes and trying to stay calm. “Dammit,” he whispered.</p><p>“What do we do?” John murmured.</p><p>“We don’t have a choice but to say somethin’ now,” Paul said. “Hey, James.”</p><p>“You’re back!” James said cheerfully as Paul and John dropped to the ground. “I haven’t seen you in <em>forever</em>.” He didn’t even glance back at John, who had leaped down beside Paul and was now leaning against the tree. “How are you?”</p><p>“Fine, fine,” Paul said, trying to make this seem as normal as possible. “What about you?”</p><p>“Good.” Paul said. “I just met this great lad named John! He—” James’s gaze passed to John, who was staring up at him by the sound of his name. “Hey, you’ve seen him, too, then.”</p><p>“Well, I guess,” Paul said. “But he’s from the future too, y’know...”</p><p>“We’re still friends in the future?” James said, shocked.</p><p>“Um...yeah,” Paul replied. “You think I’d let a bugger like him get away?” He grinned as John laughed behind him. </p><p>“So what are you back for?” James said, rocking on his heels. “Can I help? Maybe?”</p><p>Paul glanced back at John, who looked like he wanted Paul to make the decision. “Um...well, John’s mother is goin’ to get hit by a car, and we were...goin’ to stop that from happening,” he said.</p><p>James’s eyes lit up. “Wow, gear!” he said. “Can I help?”</p><p>“I dunno,” Paul shrugged. “What about da’?”</p><p>“Da’ doesn’t care what goes on around here,” James rolled his eyes. “Please, please let me help! I’ve never done that kind of thing before.”</p><p>“Yes, you have…” Paul muttered. “You saved me from getting hit by a car, remember?”</p><p>“So that just proves I can do it!” James put his hands on his hips and closed his eyes in indignance. Paul sighed. <em> I don’t remember being this annoying, </em> he thought. <em> I’m barely sixteen and I’m acting like I’m five. </em> </p><p>“Fine,” Paul said, throwing his hands up in surrender. “You can help. But just try not to cause any <em> problems </em>.”</p><p>“Gear!” James shouted, jumping up and down. He nearly knocked his bike over and grabbed onto its handles to steady it. “Hey, c’n I get John so he can see this? He might wanna help us too.”</p><p>“No!” Paul snapped, and James flinched. “We don’t want to string more people into this than need to be.”</p><p>“Alright, fine,” James scowled. “At least I have another John right here.”</p><p>“Oh, so I’m some sort of disposable item now,” John said.</p><p>“No,” Paul sighed, “you’re not. Alright?”</p><p>“I <em> wish </em> I could tell the John that’s...from here,” James said. “Then he wouldn’t have to worry about Julia dying.”</p><p>“He doesn’t know it’s going to <em> happen </em>,” Paul pointed out. “And we’d like to keep that way.”</p><p>“Okay, fine.” James sat down on the grass. “So what’s the big plan?”</p><p>Paul glanced back at John, who had already scrambled up the tree again and was now on the second branch. “Well...it’s pretty fool-proof,” he said. “All we’re doing is distracting Julia while the car drives by so she won’t get hit.”</p><p>“Oh, that seems easy,” James said. “But how are we going to distract her?”</p><p>“Paul’s gonna talk to her,” John answered from up in his tree. “And then the car drives by and she can walk across the street safe.”</p><p>“Ohh,” James nodded, the sunlight reflecting in his large brown eyes. He leaned back on his hands. “So, what am I gonna do, then?” </p><p>Paul looked back at John again, but he had his eyes closed, probably halfway asleep perched on his branch. “Umm...how about this?” Paul said, plopping down on the dry grass. “<em> James </em> can distract her instead of me. And John and I can be...nearby and make sure nothing happens!”</p><p>James’s eyes lit up. “Really?”</p><p>John scowled, eyes still closed. “No, no. I don’t trust that little bugger with me mum’s life,” he snarled. James immediately deflated.</p><p>“Why not?” Paul said, tilting his head.</p><p>John sat up, a few twigs in his hair. “Because he’s too young fer it. And he doesn’t know how it went. <em> You </em> do,” he said, a bit of anxiety flashing in his eyes.</p><p>“Oh, I can do it!” James said, crossing his arms. “I promise I can!”</p><p>John looked down at Paul, who shrugged. “I think it’ll be okay,” he said. “James is smart. And it’s not that hard to distract Julia. Right?”</p><p>John crossed his arms. “I <em> guess </em>.”</p><p>“Okay,” Paul said. “It’s settled. As Julia is leaving Mimi’s, James swoops by to talk to her before she can cross the street. John and I will be hidden but watching. And the car will pass by before it can hit Julia, and everything will be fine. Deal?”</p><p>“Deal,” John grumbled, and James nodded with vigor.</p><p>✦✦✦✦</p><p>John, James, and Paul stayed out until the sun sank in the sky. Eventually, the youngest of the three stood up and stretched, going over to the bike which was still leaning against the tree. “Well, I guess we’ll figure out what happens tomorrow!” he said. “I’m gonna go home.”</p><p>“See ya,” John glanced up from the stream where they’d been trying to fish with their hands. </p><p>“Where are <em> you </em> going to go?” asked James before leaving.</p><p>Paul and John shared a glance. “Well, I dunno,” Paul shrugged. “We’ll figure it out eventually.”</p><p>“Maybe you c’n come to my place!” James suggested. “And sleep in the cellar? Nobody ever goes down there, I promise. And it’s not that cold or anythin’.”</p><p>“I <em> know </em> it’s not that cold, I’ve lived in your house before,” Paul said. In fact, that was where all the heat came from, and plus, it was July. “But do you think Da’ will come down?”</p><p>“No, I just <em> said </em> nobody goes down there. And there’s plenty of space to hide if someone <em> does </em>.” James replied. “C’mon, I’ll even bring you dinner!”</p><p>“Okay,” John popped up like a jack-in-the box. “I’m starvin’ anyway.”</p><p>Paul sighed, pulling himself away from the stream. “Fine. I’ll go too.”</p><p>James mounted his bicycle. “Somebody else can fit on here.” he said. “John is probably too heavy...Paul?”</p><p>“Sure,” Paul said, squeezing onto the seat behind James.</p><p>“Well...where do I go, then?” John scowled. </p><p>James glanced back at John with a grin. “Try to keep up!” With that he shoved his shoes on the pedals and they were off. Paul laughed as he watched John try to scramble after them. </p><p>They sped through the red gates to the field and onto the road. Paul gazed down the long road lined with houses and green trees, the sun sinking in the soft pinkish-orange sky. The wind blew through his black hair and he felt sort of peaceful for a moment. Everything was so beautiful.</p><p>He was jerked out of his reverie by James hitting the curb and stopping the bike. “We’re back.” the youngest said, climbing off the seat. “Keep your head low, Da’ or Mike might see you.”</p><p>Paul glanced back to see John panting as he caught up with them. “Why...were you going so fast?” he said, putting his hands on his knees and wiping his brow. “I almost fell flat on my face.”</p><p>“Sorry, Johnny,” Paul grinned. “You alright?”</p><p>John’s gaze met his, and he smiled. “...Yeah.”</p><p>Paul beamed back. “Good.”</p><p>“Okay, I’ll sneak you both in through the cellar window, alright?” James said. “Then I’ll give you dinner when it’s ready. Gear?”</p><p>“Mhm,” Paul nodded. James pushed open the gate and the three of them squeezed through. Paul watched the windows for his dad or brother, but the curtains didn’t move. They pushed past the bushes and overhang of a tree to get to the side of the house. </p><p>“Here we are,” James said, opening the small cellar window. “Just slide through there, if ya can.”</p><p>“How far is the fall?” John said, peering inside.</p><p>“Not long,” James replied. “You’ll be able to catch yourself.”</p><p>John scowled but slid down first, spraying up a bunch of grass behind him. Paul heard a loud <em> oof </em> and then: “I’m alright.”</p><p>“Shush,” Paul hissed. “Remember, Da’ might be able to hear ya!”</p><p>“Alright, alright,” John replied, not any quieter.</p><p>Paul went next, and found the fall was a lot longer than James had said. Luckily John steadied him before he landed face-down on the hard pavement floor. “Gotcha!” John said with a wink, and Paul just rolled his eyes, face getting warm.</p><p>James peered in through the window. “Are ya okay?”</p><p>“Yep,” Paul gave him a thumbs-up.</p><p>“Gear,” James glanced up at something out of view. “Okay. Make yerself comfortable, I’ll be down in a min’...” Then he shut the window and he was gone.</p><p>“Well,” Paul sighed, squinting to see John in the dark. “What do you want to do now?”</p><p>“Let’s find a place to hide,” John suggested. “Then we’ll be ready if anyone besides James comes down.”</p><p>“Good idea,” Paul answered. “Well, the cellar isn’t too big. Maybe we could go behind the boiler, or…”</p><p>“Wonder if we could fit in these cabinets,” John mused as he opened a few of the old cupboards on the wall. “Or under the sink…?”</p><p>Paul shook his head. “I doubt it. There might already be...y’know, stuff in there.”</p><p>“Yeah, there is,” John opened one of the cabinets and sighed. “Well, I guess the boiler is the only way, then.”</p><p>Paul crossed his arms. “Hm...I dunno,” he said uneasily. “Da’ only comes down here to check the boiler. So it’d be a straight shot from him to us if he needed to.”</p><p>“True,” John sighed. “Do you remember if he went down here today?”</p><p>Paul frowned and shook his head. “Do you really expect me to remember that? Really?” </p><p>John laughed. “I guess not.” His brown gaze swept the room. “Well, where else could we go? There’s nothing down ‘ere except the boiler, the cabinets, and that couch.”</p><p>Paul glanced over at the rickety sofa that was covered in dust. It looked like it would probably collapse if someone sat on it. “You know, there’s a chance Da’ might not even come down ‘ere, though,” he pointed out. “So why are we even worryin’ about it?”</p><p>Suddenly, the sound of the door creaking came from up the stairs. Panic flared up in John’s eyes and the both of them sprinted over to the boiler, cramming themselves between it and the wall. </p><p>“Calm <em> down </em> , it’s just me,” James called, and they both exhaled in relief. “I’ve got somethin’ good tonight. It’s like Da’ <em> knew </em> you were comin’.”</p><p>“I hope he didn’t,” Paul sniffed as they released themselves from the uncomfortable spot. James had a plate of hot, steaming steak piled high. “Ooh, perfect.”</p><p>“It’ll warm you up for tonight,” James commented. </p><p>“Whaddya mean?” John said, already racing through the warm meat. “Ya said it wasn’t gonna be cold.”</p><p>James gave him a wary smile. “Well, I might have lied.”</p><p>“Oh, great, now yer gonna gave us <em> hypothermia. </em> Great,” Paul sighed. </p><p>“I may be able to, uh...bring some blankets down or somethin’,” James said, setting the plate down on the top of the boiler. “Maybe. Alright, see ya lads. Gotta go back up, or Da’ might suspect somethin’.”</p><p>John glared at him, but Paul said a quick farewell before beginning to tear into his portion of dinner. “Well, the boiler’s down here, so maybe that’ll heat things up a bit,” he said, still knowing John was salty.</p><p>“Not if the boiler doesn’t work, and your da’ has to come down to fix it,” John pressed.</p><p>“Not this old argument,” Paul sighed. “We’ll cross that bridge <em> if </em> we come to it.”</p><p>They finished the steak in record time and eventually (and very hesitantly) sat on the dusty sofa. It actually wasn’t too bad once it was broken in, which it definitely had been. Paul was getting exhausted anyway, and he was already half-asleep by the time night began falling.</p><p>It was very clear James was <em> not </em> going to be coming down tonight (he probably forgot about it, so there was a pretty good chance that both John and Paul were going to be freezing to death tonight, but it wasn’t like Paul hadn’t died <em> before </em>), so of course they were both terrified out of their wits when the door opened at around 9:30.</p><p>It jerked Paul out of his pre-sleep reverie, or maybe it was just John’s chilly hand pulling his arm up to the boiler. “What?” Paul groaned. “Is’ probably just James, y’know.”</p><p>“No, it’s <em> not </em> , it’s yer da’ I <em> saw </em> him!” John said, panicked, as they stuffed themselves back behind the boiler. </p><p>Paul’s eyes grew wide. “<em> What? </em>”</p><p>“<em> Yes </em>. Look!”</p><p>Paul slowly lifted his head up over the boiler. He could see Jim wandering over to the cabinets, opening them, looking for something. He seemed to have found it and then went over to the stairs.</p><p>“Oh, phew, he’s leavin’,” Paul whispered.</p><p>But then Jim stopped. He stared at the boiler, seeming very suspicious. Pangs of fear made Paul’s heart pound, and he knew that had been a very bad idea.</p><p>Jim very slowly turned back toward the stairs and began to climb the stairs once more. Paul and John both stayed completely silent, not daring to move a finger. Jim then opened the cellar door and paused.</p><p>Tension hung in the room.</p><p>Then, James turned around, narrowing his eyes at the boiler. Paul and John froze up, hearts pounding. He was coming towards them, and they had no way out.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Just a Sprinkling for the May Queen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Not much time left...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jim came over like a cat stalking a mouse, eyes sharp as he prowled toward them. Paul and John pushed against the wall, trying to cower away from the horrible fate they were about to face. Paul’s mind was racing for a way out of this, and right as Jim stopped in front of the boiler he spotted the window not far beside them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quickly and silently, he lifted up a hand to undo the latch, pushing the window open very slightly. He was terrified, but he glanced at John, hoping he’d catch on. Thankfully, John nodded and helped Paul squeeze out of the open window and onto the grass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul leaned over the side, grabbing John’s hands and pulling him up as well. John winced as he scrambled up onto the ground, and Paul very gently shut the window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>close</span>
  </em>
  <span> one,” John said with a relieved sigh. “We almost got caught!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t believe ‘e</span>
  <em>
    <span> didn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> catch us!” Paul replied. It was hard to believe Jim hadn’t seen them crawling out of the window, but here they were, covered in dirt and grass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, whaddo we do now?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul shrugged. “Well, it’s obvious we can’t sleep down </span>
  <em>
    <span>there</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he said. “But I don’t know where else we can go except...out </span>
  <em>
    <span>here</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John scowled. “Ugh. Really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What else can we </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John sighed and looked back at the bushes. “Fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The both of them crawled under the dark bushes, making sure to get deep enough where nobody could find them. Paul put a hand under his head and sighed, shivering. “It’s so </span>
  <em>
    <span>cold</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he muttered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt John shift beside him and lean close into Paul. “Let’s conserve body heat,” he suggested, eyes still closed. Paul smirked, knowing that was just John-talk for “let’s snuggle”. The two of them got closer together, and Paul felt very warm, for more reasons than one. Curled together in the bushes, the both of them fell into a surprisingly cozy sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>✦✦✦✦</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul woke up rather late that morning, lifting his head up to get scratched by leaves and branches. “Ow,” he hissed, rubbing his forehead. Sun was coming in through the leaves, dappling the ground with yellow and white. He glanced over at John, who was still asleep, and crawled out of the bush.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was another bright morning in July, and luckily it had been warm enough last night that they didn’t freeze to death. Paul looked up at James’s room’s window. The curtains were still drawn; he hadn’t woken up yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul’s stomach growled, so he moved back into the sanctuary of the bush. “Johnny,” he said, nudging his arm. “Johnny, wake up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Urm, what?” John groaned, furrowing his brows and rolled over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“John, get </span>
  <em>
    <span>up</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Paul said, putting his head on John’s arm. “I’m hungry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” John muttered. He still didn’t even open his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna go back to 1966 if you don’t get up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>FINE,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” John replied, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “I swear, don’t make threats like that. You’re gonna scare the shit out of me if you go back without me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going to do that,” Paul said with a smile. “I just wanted you to get up. I’m hungry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John laughed. “You’re also full of leaves.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul pretended to look offended and brushed the leaves out of his hair. “Rude,” he scowled. “Now, c’mon, let’s try to wake up James so he can bring us some breakfast.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why can’t we just buy somethin’?” John said as they left the bush. “There’s a shop ‘round here somewhere, I’m sure of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul began to gather pebbles beside the bushes to throw at James’s window. “Do you have money?” he said, and John frowned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul began to heave a pebble at James’s window. It made a sharp tapping noise, but not sharp enough that it would wake everyone in the house. Nothing happened, so he threw another one. And another.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the fifth pebble, James was pulling his curtains back and heaving his window up. “Stop,” he said, catching the next pebble Paul had thrown. “I’m up. Why are you outside?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your da’ almost found us,” John said, irritation pricking his voice. “You said he wasn’t going to come down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He did?” James’s eyes grew wide. “Oh. Sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Paul heard someone calling James from inside. “Who’re you talking to?” It was Jim.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just meself, Da’,” replied James. He turned back to John and Paul, lowering his voice. “I’ll give you some money to buy somethin’ at the place down the street, ‘k?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Paul replied, and a few moments later a few pounds floated out the window. John caught them all and counted them; there were around nine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that enough?” James said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that’s good,” Paul replied. “Thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See you in a little,” James said with a grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then the window shut with and it was quiet for the most part. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” John said, glancing over his shoulder. “Where do you wanna go?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said you knew a place,” Paul responded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John sighed. “True,” he mumbled. “Okay, let’s go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They skipped over to the sidewalk and began walking down, keeping their heads low in case anybody saw them and suspected anything unordinary. They eventually got to a bus stop, and knew exactly where they were going to go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Penny Lane,” they both murmured at the same time. They shared a glance and hopped on, using some of their money for the fare. Paul followed John all the way to the top of the double-decker and they sat in the mostly empty rows. Paul watched the familiar sights fly by, another pang of nostalgia hitting him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he whispered, the words coming to him almost immediately. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>There beneath the</span>
  </em>
  <span>…” He checked to see the color of the sky. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Blue...suburban skies…</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, that’s not too bad.” John said from beside him. “We could turn that into a song.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?” Paul said, an uncontrollable beam coming to his face. John </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> complimented him. “D’ya think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” John immediately looked flustered. “It’s...good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul gave him a grateful smile as the bus dragged itself across town. It eventually stopped, and Paul spotted a small sign that read: </span>
  <em>
    <span>City of Liverpool; PENNY LANE.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It was pristine and white.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He and John got off the bus and stared down the sidewalk. “Well, where d’ya want to go?” Paul said. “There’s a fish and chips place down there, remember?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fish n’ chips?” John wrinkled his nose. “For breakfast?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, sure,” Paul shrugged. “There’s not a cafe here like there is in London. This is gritty town.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John shrugged and nodded. “Okay, fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They approached the tiny, emerald-green fish-and-chips place that was so familiar to Paul. He’d been here so many times before, by himself, with his brother, with John. It was sort of like a second home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eyy, Macca!” one of the employees called once the both of them entered the store. Paul warmed at the thought of his old pal, Eric Clague, who worked behind the counter making the chips part of the meal. He was only a couple years older than Paul and knew everybody in town, in training to be a constable and learning how to drive a car. Paul felt sort of guilty, he hadn’t talked to Eric in years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cheers, Eric!” he called with a grin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’ll ya have?” Eric came over to them, his caramel-colored eyes bright. He was in surprisingly good shape, with swollen muscles and a very </span>
  <em>
    <span>manly</span>
  </em>
  <span> form. “The usual for ya?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yea,” Paul glanced over at John. “And he’ll have…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever you’re gettin’.” muttered John, avoiding Eric’s gaze. They didn’t know each other very well, and Paul couldn’t help but laugh a little. John usually wasn’t the person to be labeled as </span>
  <em>
    <span>shy.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They slid into a tall booth, John sitting on the side with his back turned to Eric. “Why’re you so scared of ‘im?” Paul said, trying not to seem like he was making fun of John. “He’s nice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not </span>
  <em>
    <span>scared</span>
  </em>
  <span> of ‘im!” John growled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” Paul smiled knowingly at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not.” John said. “There’s just...somethin’ about ‘im I don’t like, alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul rolled his eyes. “Okay,” he said. He grabbed a leftover napkin and began to fold it, going over and over every layer, making it smaller and smaller. “I hope everything goes alright today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why wouldn’t it?” John said almost immediately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul looked up at him. “I dunno.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Didn’t work with us an’ Brian</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought. “Something might happen. Everything matters, y’know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John’s eyes were sharp as he looked away from Paul. “Don’t scare me like that,” he said. “Everything’s gonna work, alright? No use frettin’ about it…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul then realized why John was acting so weird. He was nervous about today, of course. He was fidgeting like crazy and drumming his hands on the table. Paul reached over the table and put his hand on John’s. It was strange at first, since no Liverpudlians ever did that. But John relaxed for a moment, staring at Paul. “It’ll be alright, John,” he murmured, happy they were the only ones in the restaurant. “Okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John looked like he wanted to pull his hand away, but he just nodded with a sigh. “Mhm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul immediately snatched his hand off of John’s the moment he saw Eric come over with their food. He put the steaming fish-and-chips on the table and smiled. “There ya go, boys. Anythin’ else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul’s stomach roared. “Nope,” he said. “We’re good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John began to tear into his food, and Paul watched him with envy. It was obvious Eric wanted to start a conversation. “So, how’ve ya been?” he said, leaning his massive arm against the booth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gear, gear,” Paul said with a smile. “N’ you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” Eric said. “I’ve got a girlfriend now. Her name’s Alice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, nice,” Paul nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’s Dorothy, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul panicked for a moment, trying to remember who this Dorothy was. Oh, yes, Dot! His girlfriend. “She’s...good,” he answered, not really knowing if she actually was good. They’d broken up many, many years ago after the poor girl had suffered a miscarriage. It hurt Paul to even think about her. “She’s okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Eric answered. “Yeah, me da’ says I’m gonna have to work here for a while if I want to pay off my car.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pay off your car…?” Paul trailed off. “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I crashed it, remember? It was only like two weeks ago?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Paul vaguely remembered Eric crashing his car into a bush once, almost hitting two people. “Yeah, yeah. I remember now. So how long are ya gonna have to work?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two months.” Eric sighed. “But between you an’ me: I’m still drivin’ the old thing. It works, I don’t see why I have to get it fixed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul narrowed his eyes at him, sneaking a chip into his mouth. The warm feeling took him over and he popped another one. “What if ya crash again? Your dad’ll never forgive ya.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t,” Eric held his hands up. “I can’t even drive above fifty miles per hour or else it’ll tucker out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul nodded slowly. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Kay…</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he said, still a bit suspicious. “Well, I’m gonna...eat now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go ahead, enjoy it.” Eric flashed him a smile and stepped back into the kitchen. Paul began to dig into his fish-and-chips, not stopping until he’d consumed about half of it. When he noticed John had paused, he glanced up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay?” he said, following John’s gaze. He was scowling at Eric, who was working in the kitchen. “What? Did he say somethin’?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He killed her,” John muttered, trying his best to be quiet. “He killed Julia. I know for fact he did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul felt a sort of cold feeling spreading through his hands. “No way,” he said, eyes growing wide. “No way. He hit her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” John replied. “With his damn car. He wasn’t even looking and he just—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But he said the car couldn’t go over fifty,” Paul cut him off. “How could he have hit her if the car wasn’t even going that fast?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He must have been lying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John stood up, a pure look of fury in his eyes, but then sat down again. “Paul, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> what I saw,” he muttered. “It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Eric </span>
  </em>
  <span>who hit her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul sat back as he tried to process this information. He couldn’t believe Eric would do something like that. But it was an accident, surely. It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>ruled</span>
  </em>
  <span> as an accident! “So...what are we gonna do now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know if we should change our plan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We shouldn’t mess with it,” Paul said. “But it’s good to know.” He peered over at Eric, his opinion of him suddenly changed. Eric was a liar, and if he had just paid off his car and taken it into the shop, John’s mother would have never died!</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Bullseye!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The both of them headed back to Strawberry Fields after they’d finished so John could blow off some steam. He immediately scurried right up into his tree, getting to the highest branch without even stopping to breathe. </p><p>Of course, Paul had to follow. But he went a bit slower, sort of hesitant to even get near John. He had lashed out at him at the Fish-and-Chips place, and Paul wasn’t going to risk that again.</p><p>When he finally caught up with his friend, John had calmed down considerably. “Are ya alright now?” Paul said as he tried to balance between the crook of two twigs. </p><p>“Yea,” John shrugged like a child that had just thrown a temper tantrum. “I’m just pissed, ya know? Just because of his selfishness he went and killed ‘er.”</p><p>“Well, he’s not going to this time,” Paul assured him. “Remember the plan? We’re gonna help Julia, ‘kay?”</p><p>John relaxed a little bit. “Yeah, I know.”</p><p>It was around noon then, as they’d woken up pretty late. It wasn’t long before they had to go back and commence the plan with James. Paul hoped he was ready, in some sort of way. He just couldn’t let James mess up. John would probably beat the shit out of him if he did.</p><p>They went back to the previous hobby of trying to catch minnows with their hands in the nearby stream. Every so often Paul would hear laughing from far-away children that played outside the Salvation Army building, giggling and squealing during their unseen game. Paul smiled every time he heard them.</p><p>It hardly felt like any time at all before the sun began its gradual sinking in the darkening sky. “Well, we’ve probably got to go now,” Paul mumbled. They had been sun-bathing under the long, tall tree for a while. </p><p>John’s frizzy-haired mess of a head popped up from the ground. “Already?” he said, eyes glinting with worry.</p><p>“It’ll be <em> fine </em>,” Paul said, dragging himself to his feet and giving a marvelous stretch. “Come on, we don’t want to make James wait up.”</p><p>They traveled through the tall grass, and Paul spotted two brown-topped heads moving very close to them. They were children. Paul would have liked to meet them, but time didn’t allow.</p><p>Eventually they caught another bus and used the last of their money to hop on. John was so nervous he was practically shaking, and didn’t even want to climb to the top, which was usually his favorite spot. They pulled up beside Paul’s house and piled out again.</p><p>Paul spotted James peeking out at them through the front window, and he quickly came out of the back door. “Is it time already?” he said. “I was waiting for you both for hours.”</p><p>“Do you remember the plan?” Paul said, glancing towards the door for Jim. “You talk to Julia, keep her from going, you know.”</p><p>“Yes, I’ve already rehearsed it a bunch in my head,” James said with a big grin.</p><p>Paul rocked on his heels and glanced at John. “Okay, let’s go down to Mimi’s and...well...let’s do it.”</p><p>✦✦✦✦</p><p>The sun was nearly all the way down when they arrived. They squeezed behind a neighbor’s neglected fence and peered through the cracks to see what was going on. Paul could barely see Julia saying farewell to Mimi by the small white gate to their backyard.</p><p>“Okay, go, James.” Paul hissed, and James stood up, coming around the fence right as Julia exited the place. </p><p>Paul and John got close to the end of the fence, unblinkingly staring at James, who strolled over to Julia. “Hello,” he said, immediately going into chatter. It was quite obvious he was terribly nervous.</p><p>Julia didn’t seem to notice and responded to him light-heartedly, just like she always did, still walking over to the road to cross. Paul’s heart was pounding so loud he was sure John could hear. “Stop ‘er, James, stop ‘er,” John murmured, the first words Paul heard him say in a long time.</p><p>“Oh, look at these wildflowers, Julia!” James said, picking up a few tiny white flowers from the grass. “Would you like a few?”</p><p>“I would.” Julia said with a warm smile. “Could I bring them back to my little girls?”</p><p>James nodded vigorously, handing the gentle flowers to her. Julia put one in her rich red hair. “Oh, does it look very nice?”</p><p>James nodded. “Yes, very!”</p><p>“Well, my girls must be hungry,” Julia said with a shrug. “I’ve got to go.”</p><p>“Wait, Ms. Lennon…” James said, trying to grab her as she stepped out onto the road.</p><p>“No, no, <em> no </em>…” John stood up. “He can’t let her!”</p><p>“John,” Paul grabbed his arm. “What are you <em> doing </em>?” But he couldn’t stop John in time. He was already getting up and going over.</p><p>Then Paul heard a loud <em> vrr </em> coming from down the road. He whipped his head around to see Eric behind the wheel of his destroyed car. He wasn’t looking at Julia, and he was coming right in her path.</p><p>“<em> Eric </em>!” Paul hissed, his mind racing to figure out what to do. The plan had took a horrible turn. </p><p>Julia was still unaware of the car roaring toward her until it was too late. She saw it coming at more than fifty miles per hour and screamed. Then, like flash, John leaped in front of her, grabbing his mother and turning around so she fell on him as they both dropped onto the ground. James’s eyes were wide as saucers as they both came to a stop beside the sidewalk.</p><p>“No way,” Paul breathed as he came up next to James. This had happened before. He felt a burning sensation along his scar, and he and James shared a glance. He was feeling it too.</p><p>The car pulled to the side of the road and Eric slowly came out. James ran over as Mimi stepped out of the gate, eyes wide. “Eric! What the hell are you doing? You can’t drive that car!” he yelled as anger burned in his voice.</p><p>Paul raced over to John and Julia. “Are you alright?” he said, crouching down beside them. He didn’t care if Mimi could see him or not anymore. “God, John? Julia?”</p><p>“Yeah, we’re gear…” John said, lifting his head up and looking over at his mother. She was okay too. There was a scrape on her forehead and her lip was bleeding, but other than that she was okay. John was a bit more roughed up; blood was trickling down his nose and there was a large, angry red scratch taking up a good portion of the side of his face.</p><p>“Can you get up?” Paul said as he tried to get a better look at John’s injuries. The older swatted at him and stood up on his own, brushing himself off. Then he turned and helped Julia.</p><p>“Oh, John, you’re a <em> lifesaver </em>,” Julia said, giving her son a massive bear hug. Paul expected him to just smile and take it, but instead he turned around and returned the hug, eyes shut tight. “It’s alright, dear. It’s alright,” Julia murmured. </p><p>Paul watched Mimi brush by him to go join the embrace. His heart felt warm all of the sudden, and everything seemed to melt away. John was surrounded by the two people he loved most: his mother and his aunt. Paul wasn’t quite sure, but he could have sworn he saw tears collect at the corners of John’s eyes. Everything was going to be alright.</p><p>But for now, he needed to go see what was up with Eric. The broken car was still parked by the side of the road, smoke steaming from the hood. James was screaming bloody murder at Eric, his hazel eyes burning with fury. Eric was trying to defend himself, but it wasn’t working very well, and he trailed off completely once he saw Paul and James standing next to each other, two identical people in the same place.</p><p>“I didn’t know you had a twin,” Eric muttered.</p><p>James glanced over at Paul for a brief second before going back to yelling. “You <em> knew </em> you shouldn’t have driven that car! You almost <em> hit </em> two people and almost <em> killed </em> another one! You’re a cheat and a <em> liar! </em> I can’t believe I <em> ever </em> thought <em> you </em> were a <em> good </em>person!”</p><p>Eric scowled and then whirled around, beginning to march down the sidewalk without taking accountability for anything. James just scoffed and went to go see John, but Paul followed, curious and confused.</p><p>“Eric!” he said. “Eric, wait!”</p><p>“I don’t need you to keep yelling at me,” Eric growled, making a sharp turn into somebody’s backyard. </p><p>Paul followed desperately. “I’m not the one who was yelling at you. I’m...another one,” he said. “I’m...a distant cousin of Paul’s…”</p><p>“No, you’re not. You’re a time traveler.”</p><p>Paul froze mid-step, eyes wide and jaw dropped. Eric stopped too and stared at him, completely serious. “Aren’t you?”</p><p>Paul didn’t know what to say, and just nodded.</p><p>“So am I,” Eric muttered. “I came back here to hit her.”</p><p>“Why?” Paul said, narrowing his eyes. </p><p>“Because I hate John Lennon.” Eric answered. “With every fiber of my being I hate him. He’s a horrible person. I want to make him miserable just like he made so many other people miserable!” </p><p>“What?” Paul glared at him. “Why would you do that? I’m sure you’re not perfect, Eric.” He gestured toward the crash scene. “This proves it.”</p><p>Eric glared at him. “You just don’t understand, Paul,” he growled. “I don’t think you ever will. You’re too much of an...an <em> apologist </em>to see my side of the argument.”</p><p>“An apologist?” Paul cried. “What?”</p><p>               “It’s true.” Eric replied, turning around and storming away. Paul watched him go, not quite knowing what to do. He still couldn’t believe that Eric was a time traveler. How had he traveled back? There was no way he knew about the crack. And Paul knew the reason that he “hated John” for all of this wasn’t quite valid. There was something else there, and Paul would be damned if he didn’t figure it out.  </p><p>✦✦✦✦</p><p>Back at Mimi’s, John and Julia were getting fixed up. Paul opted to stay while James went home, worried his dad was going to figure out he was missing. John couldn’t stop looking at his mother, and vice-versa. Paul was sure they were feeling closer now than ever before.</p><p>A sort of longing rose up inside of him; he wished he could have felt the same with <em> his </em> mother. But she had died when he was fourteen, and since Jim was occupied with trying to provide without her money, Paul had to rush his recovery time and step up to the plate to help his dad. John never had to do that, and wouldn’t now. Paul sighed and watched as Mimi stuck a band-aid on Julia’s forehead scrape. He knew there was nothing he could do about his own mother’s death, but...at least he could try and help John’s.</p><p>“Did you happen to have a talk with that loony driver, Paul?” Mimi said as she threw the band-aid wrapper away. “You seemed like you knew him.”</p><p>“Yeah, I did,” Paul muttered. “He said...he said it was an accident.”</p><p>“Well, of course it was an <em> accident </em> ,” Julia said with a light-hearted smile. “Nobody tries to hit a person on <em> purpose </em>.”</p><p><em> You’d be surprised, </em> Paul thought to himself.</p><p>“I’d like to have a little chat with ‘im too,” John growled, wincing as Mimi applied some sort of cream to that gash on his face. “You’d bet he’d never walk again when I’m through with ‘im.”</p><p>“Oh, don’t be like that, Johnny,” Julia said, pushing her rich red hair out of her face. “I’m sure you would feel bad if you accidentally hit somebody.”</p><p>“Depends on who it was,” John replied, and Julia laughed with a swat in his face. </p><p>“I thought you went to Blomfield, John,” Mimi said suddenly, peering at him in suspicion. “You didn’t leave long ago.”</p><p>John swallowed and stared at Paul. “Uh…” he trailed off. “Uh, yeah, but...I was comin’ back and saw the car comin’ for her. So I just...y’know.”</p><p>Mimi paused for a moment. “Okay…” she said. “But you had only left a few moments ago.”</p><p>“Well...when I figured out Julia wasn’t there I came back,” John rushed to say, trying not to seem nervous. That seemed to satisfy Mimi as she kept patching up John’s injury.</p><p>Meanwhile, Paul’s stomach was dropping again. The other John was still at Blomfield, and he had no clue about anything that was happening currently. Paul didn’t know what to do, but he had to get over there. He’d think of a plan on the way.</p><p>“Be right back,” Paul said, jumping off the kitchen table. He slid out the back door, and spotting John’s bike by the wall, hopped on and began speeding through the yard to get onto the sidewalk.</p><p>He didn’t quite remember where Blomfield was but he had a pretty good <em> idea </em> of it. He sped down the street, panic gripping him. If the other John was on the way home, Paul might not be able to catch up with him. Either that or he <em> would </em> get to him but <em> wouldn’t </em> know what to say. </p><p>Paul finally got to Blomfield Road. The memory of the sandy-gray house was coming back to him, and he parked in front of it, leaning the bicycle gently against the black gate in front of it. He leaped over said gate and bolted inside. </p><p>Immediately he was met with Julia’s two girls: Jackie and Julia, in the kitchen. He froze, not quite knowing what to do. “H-hi,” he said.</p><p>“Hello,” Jackie said, but Julia just nodded a greeting, always the quieter of the two.</p><p>“Have you seen John?” Paul asked, smoothing down his frizzy black hair. “‘S he around?”</p><p>“Yea,” Jackie nodded through the hall to the television room. “He’s down there. Waitin’ for Mummy.”</p><p>“Oh...m’kay, thanks.” Paul said, brushing past them. His heart was pounding as he padded slowly down the hallway. As he got closer to the sun-filled room he could hear pained hisses from inside.</p><p>Paul slowly peeked in from behind the wall, and his eyes grew wide. ‘58 John (Paul supposed he’d just call him Winston for simplicity) was sitting on the sofa, bright red blood dappling his hands. <em> Oh, crap </em> , Paul thought, covering his mouth in shock. Since Winston and the... <em> other </em> John were the same person, he was experiencing the same injuries. Paul sighed, inwardly groaning. How was he going to explain <em> this </em>?</p><p>Then he got an idea.</p><p>“Hey.” he said, stepping into the room. Winston glanced up, looking startled before relaxing. “Woah, are you alright, then?”</p><p>“I dunno what happened,” Winston answered. “I was just sittin’ here, and then...it felt so weird. That huge gash just <em> appeared </em>.”</p><p>“Yea, I can...tell ya why, actually.” Paul said, hoping and praying this would work. “C’mon, I’ve got somethin’ to show ya.”</p><p>Winston looked a bit muddled for a moment, but he stood up and followed Paul. The younger of the two opted to go for the other door to avoid Julia and Jackie. “Shouldn’t we...do something about this?” Winston said, pointing toward his face wound.</p><p>“Oh. Yeah,” Paul replied. Winston shambed over to a small closet and took out a roll of white bandage patches, slapping one on his face and wiping the blood tricking down his nose with his sleeve. “Ready now?”</p><p>“Mhm,” John said, so they left.</p><p>Paul led him down the road, walking so quickly at a point he was almost running. The younger John was following uneasily, not entirely sure what Paul was taking him to do. They got to Mimi’s house relatively quickly, and Winston looked shocked at the sight of Eric’s steaming car.</p><p>“What the hell happened here?” he said.</p><p>Paul stood in front of the car, completely unsure that this was going to work. “So...this is a bit of a shocker,” he said, “but you just saved your mother from gettin’ hit by that car.”</p><p>Winston stared blankly at the car for about four minutes in a row. Then he slowly turned to Paul; “Huh?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Paul nodded. “See, you an’ Julia are inside Mimi’s house, getting patched up because you got hurt. And you just had an out-of-body experience.”</p><p>Winston blinked a few times. “Paul, this has got to be the laziest joke I’ve ever heard in my life,” he said.</p><p>“Joke?” Paul replied. “What joke?”</p><p>Winston narrowed his eyes. “Oh, shut up, Paul. Y’know I don’t like to talk about those kind of things.” he said angrily. “Stop bein’...<em> rude </em>.”</p><p>“I’m not jokin’.” Paul replied. “It really happened, y’know. Go inside n’ see.”</p><p>Winston glared at him but opened Mimi’s white gate, peering inside through the front window. He quickly jerked back, eyes wide. “No way,” he murmured, glancing back at Paul. “I’m in there!”</p><p>“See? You saved her.”</p><p>“I did<em> not </em>.” Winston retorted. “I was in Blomfield this entire time.”</p><p>“But you’re in there as well,” Paul pointed out. “Look.” It helped that John had zoned out around that time, so it helped towards giving him the look of being...not fully there. </p><p>Winston stared at him. “How do I...get back in, then?”</p><p>Paul had a moment of internal panic before he came up with another shabby idea. “Just go in and...well, it’ll be easy. Go on in. It’ll work.”</p><p>Winston still looked uneasy but went inside anyway. Quickly, Paul passed by and got to the kitchen before him. “C’mon, Johnny,” he said to the ‘66 version. “The other one’s comin’ in. We’ve gotta bounce.”</p><p>John glanced up, blinking a few times. “Huh?”</p><p>“You from ‘58 is comin’ in, so we’ve gotta go, come <em> on </em>.” Paul grabbed his arm and tugged him towards the back door, opening it and shoving John out right when Winston came in.</p><p>Paul slammed the door behind him, sighing in relief. “That was a close one,” he whispered. “<em> Holy </em> crap.”</p><p>“What’d you say?” John asked, taking a look inside. </p><p>“I told him he had an out-of-body experience,” Paul replied begrudgingly. “I know it was dumb.”</p><p>“‘M kinda surprised he believed it,” John said with a laugh. Then his shoulders relaxed a bit. “So...what do we do now? We’ve saved Julia. ‘S it time to go back?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Paul sighed. “I guess.”</p><p>John looked slightly disappointed. “Aw.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I dunno. It’s just so...nice here,” he said. “I don’t really wanna leave.”</p><p>“But we can’t jus’...stay here forever.” Paul said.</p><p>“Well, yea, I know that.” John sighed. “But it was nice to be able to...change things. Ya know? I want to do that again.”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>John stared at Paul for a moment. “What if we...oh, I dunno...went back n’ saved Stu?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. So Long, Farewell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Stu?” Paul echoed, tilting his head. “D’ya think we could? I mean...it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>possible,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John shrugged and nodded. “Yea. We saved Julia...why not Stu?” he looked a little bit sheepish about it. “C’mon. Let’s do it now, before you regret sayin’ yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul smirked as John stood up, going around the side of the house. He decided to follow, knowing full well that he couldn’t convince John not to go back even if he said no. But he wanted to say goodbye to James first. He didn’t know if he would see him in...what...1962? Was that when Stu died? It seemed like forever ago, though it was only four years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, but…lemme say goodbye to James first,” Paul called after him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John turned around. “What? Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul scowled. Of course John had to make him feel embarrassed. “I dunno...in case I don’t see ‘im again. I feel like I owe it to ‘im.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Owe it to ‘im?” John tilted his head. “He didn’t do anythin’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> anythin’?” Paul narrowed his eyes. “Yes he did! He helped us with so much...the place to sleep, the biggest part of the plan, givin’ us money, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but none of it ever actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>worked</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” John replied haughtily. He relaxed when he saw Paul was actually serious. “Fine. Go on. I’ll go with, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The house wasn’t far off, and Paul knew the way by heart anyway. It was dark when they finally arrived, a few white stars poking out in the inky black sky. He could see James’s room had its light on, so he picked up a pebble from his earlier collection to throw at the window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hit with a clack that broke through the otherwise quiet nighttime air. James pushed his window open not half a second later, glaring down at Paul. “Would you </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop </span>
  </em>
  <span>that?” he said, and Paul grinned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just wanted to say goodbye to ya,” Paul said, looking over at John, who was leaning against the house’s wall and digging around in his pockets for some cigarettes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>James’s hazel eyes grew saddened, and he sighed. “Leavin’ already, then?” he said. “That’s just like ya.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re the same person,” Paul rolled his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James grinned the exact same way Paul had. “Yea, I know,” he snickered. “Aw, well. Goodbye.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I might see ya again. In a year or two,” Paul said. “Well...it’ll be a few hours for me, but...anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James looked legitimately disappointed. “Will I ever get enough of ya?” he teased, putting his hand on his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hopefully not,” Paul said. “That’d mean we’d both cease to exist, if my math’s correct.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James shook his head. “Ugh. Don’t make me think about that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul laughed, glancing over at John again. He looked eager to go, so Paul supposed he’d have to wrap things up. “Goodbye, James.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See ya, you old coot,” James laughed, shutting his window before Paul could protest. A few moments later the light shut out, and it was quiet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should we go, then?” John said impatiently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul heaved a sigh. “I guess,” he said, so they both went into the front yard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nice kid,” John commented as they got onto the sidewalk, and Paul smiled. “So, uh...how d’we get to London, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The usual way,” Paul said. “Train or somethin’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John scowled. “Do we...</span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span>...to go to London?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno where</span>
  <em>
    <span> else</span>
  </em>
  <span> we would go to time travel, John,” Paul replied. “C’mon, the quicker we catch a train the quicker we can be outta here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John sighed with another frown. “Fine,” he sighed. “So...we catch the bus to the station n’ then…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N’ then get to London.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s our money?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have any?” Paul said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John felt his pockets. “Three pounds.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul sighed. “That’s...that’s definitely not enough, John.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, trust me, I’m aware.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, so how do we get more?” Paul said, turning around and staring down the street. “Do we go back and ask James?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, it’s fine,” John said. “He prob’ly wouldn’t want to give us any more anyways.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul sighed again. “So...what do we do, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John thought for a moment before his eyes lit up. “Let’s go to Julia’s. Everyone is at Mimi’s house, so we could just snag some money and get out of there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm...okay,” Paul said. “Sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Booking it down the street again, the two of them stumbled into Julia’s front yard. Paul leaned against the fence, trying to catch his breath as John went in through the back door. He came out about two seconds later with a couple pounds. “There we are,” he said, picking one up as it spilled out of his hands. “That should do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’d you get that so fast?” Paul said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John winked at him. “Trust me. To be a Lennon, you have to know where the money is at all times.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul rolled his eyes and followed John back down the street to the station.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>✦✦✦✦</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After they’d booked two tickets to London, they piled onto the train. Paul slid into the seat closest to the window. The moonlight beamed in, and the stars spun and glittered beside it. Paul put his head down and sighed. This reminded him almost exactly of the time when they had to go back and save Brian. That seemed like a thousand years ago. But, really...it was only two, so...a thousand minutes, maybe?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John snagged a paper from the front seat and snapped it open, skimming it. “Oh, yeah, this isn’t the news,” he muttered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah it is,” Paul replied, eyes half-closed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” John waved it in front of his face. “It’s not 19</span>
  <em>
    <span>66</span>
  </em>
  <span> news.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Paul said with a yawn. “You’re right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John leaned back in his seat. “Y’look tired.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am,” Paul said with a little laugh. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span>, trust me. I didn’t get good sleep last night. Y’know. Cause we were in the bushes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John gave him a wide smile. “Go to </span>
  <em>
    <span>sleep</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul yawned again and stretched out. He put his head on his arms and closed his eyes. Tomorrow there was a lot of work to do, and it would be good to get rest. He gave one last sleepy glance to John, who was staring pensively out the window, gently touching the gash on the side of his face. The moonlight reflected in his eyes.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hi! It's me again. I'm sorry for the egregiously long wait for this chapter, and that's it's short, but next chapter will definitely be worth it, promise. I had to go on a brief hiatus, but I'm back and ready to give you all more of the story! :) 🍋</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Think For Yourself, 'Cause I Won't Be There With You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A couple hours later, Paul felt John nudging him. “Paul. Macca. We’re here,” he was muttering. His voice was rough, and it sounded like he’d been asleep too. </p><p>Paul slowly opened his eyes. It was so dark outside, except for a few streetlights. He stretched and yawned again before getting up. “Already?” he said, wiping his eyes. “How long has it been?”</p><p>“Three hours.” John replied. “It’s about 11:00.”</p><p>“Really?” Paul said as they slid out of their seats. The few other passengers streamed past them. It then hit Paul why they were here. “God, I hope that crack exists now.”</p><p>“D’ya think it doesn’t?” John whirled around, panic in his eyes. Paul swallowed and shrugged, but then he remembered. The crack existed in 1957, when they went back to save George. </p><p>“Don’t worry, it does,” Paul said. “I know it does.”</p><p>“How?”</p><p>“Because I’ve been back here before.”</p><p>John’s eyes flashed with irritation. “Can’t you just <em> tell </em> me why ya had to time travel before? I wanna know how <em> you </em> know all of this,” he said.</p><p>Paul held up his hands in surrender as they went down the stairs. “I will, don’t worry,” he said. “I will.”</p><p>John sighed. “Okay. Now, where do we go?”</p><p>“Wimpole, idiot,” Paul said, rolling his eyes with a smile. John could be so <em> clueless </em> sometimes. “Where d’ya think we <em> got </em> here from?”</p><p>John elbowed him in the ribs, and he jumped back with a yelp. “So...taxi, then?”he said. </p><p>“No,” John shook his head. “We can walk.” He walked quickly ahead before Paul could get revenge for his pain in the ribs.</p><p>“C’mon, let’s hurry, if we’re not going to drive.” Paul said. “It’s late. We could get into some trouble...y’never know who could be out here.”</p><p>John shrugged. “We’ll be fine.”</p><p>Paul glanced around warily. “So...when are we gonna travel back to?” he said. They were prowling around the streets now, and Paul was looking for a taxi that could pick them up. </p><p>“I dunno. ‘61. When Stu died,” said John.</p><p>“But we can’t just save him then,” Paul said. “It was medical, right? We can’t just go <em> zap </em> and his headaches are gone.”</p><p>“True,” John looked around before crossing the street. “But we have to think of when his headaches be<em> gan </em>.”</p><p>That prompted a few minutes of silence before Paul finally remembered. It had been a fight after one of their shows in Hamburg! Some gang had come behind the club to beat them up, and they found Stu first. Stu said his headaches began after the gang kicked his head, over and over again. Paul told John his memory, and the older of the two nodded slowly.</p><p>“‘Suppose you’re right,” he said. “Nothing really happened before then that would cause those headaches. And...his death.”</p><p>“But what day was that?” Paul said.</p><p>“It was January,” John said. “I remember that. Probably ‘61, if I’m not mistaken. It was after a show.”</p><p>“What shows did we have in January ‘61?”</p><p>“I dunno,” John said. “I’ve forgotten now.”</p><p>Paul scowled. “Helpful.”</p><p>“I know who we could ask!” John whirled around all of the sudden. “Allan!”</p><p>“Allan?” Paul repeated, confused. “Allan <em> Williams? </em> Our old manager?” He’d completely forgotten about the poor lad. He vaguely remembered his thick, curly black hair and round face. He was shorter than then. </p><p>“Yeah, he’ll know,” John said. “He remembers the fight.”</p><p>“Have you talked to ‘im?”</p><p>John shook his head. “Not in a few years. But we talked about it last time we spoke!” he said. “Oh, trust me, Paul. Let’s ask ‘im!”</p><p>“But the Beatles don’t exist yet,” Paul pointed out. “We have to time travel to a year where they do and he’ll remember the fight still.”</p><p>John’s shoulders dropped. “Oh. Well...how about we go back to 66? Just to ask ‘im?”</p><p>“Sure, works for me, I guess,” Paul sighed. “But we still need to get to Wimpole. Won’t you call a taxi?”</p><p>“<em> Fine </em>.”</p><p>✦✦✦✦</p><p>The car soon dropped them off at 57 Wimpole. Luckily, the crevice was there in all of its glory. Paul sighed and looked over the hard concrete. His head was going to be <em> permanently </em>damaged with all of this trauma. He swallowed, remembering Stu and shook the thought away.</p><p>“Okay,” John sighed, smoothing down his shirt. “Ready, Macca?”</p><p>Paul nodded. “Mhm.” He turned his head to the sky. “How long do you think stars last, John?”</p><p>Silence on his end.</p><p>“Do you think...eight years?” Paul said. He grabbed John’s hand, and let himself trip. Luckily, this time he didn’t feel the dull ache on the back of his head.</p><p>It felt like about .2 seconds before his eyes were open again. He felt rain slide down his face and patter onto the sidewalk beside him. He saw a gray sky spanning above him, and his eyes stung as drops fell into them.</p><p>He sat up from the ground and looked over at John. They’d made it to 1966, no surprise there. “Hey,” Paul shook his friend awake. “John, get up. We made it.”</p><p>“Aww,” John groaned, eyes shut tight as he rubbed the back of his head. At least the gash on his face had gone, healed long ago. </p><p>“Are you alright?” Paul said, looking over the spot John was soothing. Nothing seemed to be hurt there. </p><p>“Yeah, I’m...I’m good, Paul.” John said, sitting up. He looked towards the sky. “Oh, shit, it’s rainin’.”</p><p>“Come on, let’s go inside.” Paul grabbed his hand and tugged him to his feet. “We can call Allan and warm up in there.”</p><p>He pushed the door open and looked around. It suddenly occurred to him that Jane might be home. He shut the door behind him and made the signal for John to be quiet. He just knew she’d have a barrage of questions. “Jane?” he called. “Jane, you home?”</p><p>Complete silence except for the ticking of the clock. </p><p>“Good,” Paul sighed in relief. He didn’t think she would be home, really. She was going out a lot more recently. A...a lot more. </p><p>“Okay,” Paul went over to the phone on the wall. “Don’t worry about your wet clothes, we’ll be gone in a minute. So what do we say to Allan?”</p><p>“I dunno,” John shrugged. “What day did we have that fight behind the club that one time?”</p><p>“Yeah, but...we need background,” Paul said. “It’s pretty awkward between us, still, isn’t it?”</p><p>“I guess,” John glanced down at a small picture of Paul and Jane on the table, dripping water all over the frame. “Just say we were thinking about it. Just say we’re...writing a book.”</p><p>“Writing a <em> book </em>?”</p><p>“Yeah,” John shrugged. “About our life. He’ll believe it.”</p><p>“Fine,” Paul huffed. He guessed John would probably be right. Allan was pretty gullible. He picked up the faded cream phone and hesitantly dialed what he <em> thought </em> was Alan’s phone number. Staring at John for reassurance (and watching rain drip down in a sad puddle on his freshly-washed floors), he heard the tone repeat over and over. </p><p>“D’ya think he’s gonna answer?” John muttered.</p><p>Paul just shrugged. He couldn’t be sure.</p><p>Suddenly, he heard somebody pick up the phone. “H’lo?”</p><p>Paul was stock-still for a minute, panic seizing him. “Is this Allan?” he said.</p><p>“Yea.” Familiar gruff, slightly irritated voice, though he was almost never irritated. </p><p>“Hi! Hey, it’s...Paul,” he stuttered. He could see John break out into a laughing grin from beside him. </p><p>“Paul? I haven’t talked to you in ages,” Allan said with a chuckle. “What’s goin’ on?”</p><p>“Oh, nothin’ much, I just needed to ask you somethin’.”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“So...y’know that fight that broke out after a show in ‘61?” Paul said. “When Stu got really hurt?”</p><p>“Yea.”</p><p>“Do you remember what day that was?”</p><p>There was a sigh on the other end, and then footsteps. “Lemme go get the records,” he said. “I...I’m not sure if I’ll be able to find it. Whas’ this for, anyway?”</p><p>Paul swallowed and glanced at John. “We’re…we’re writin’ a book…” he mumbled, and John had to stifle a cackle of amusement.</p><p>“A book?” Allan sounded intrigued as pages flipped in the background. “Am I in it?”</p><p>Paul forced a grin. “Of course.”</p><p>“Good!” Allan said, and then grumbled: “I’d finally get the attention I was supposed to have gotten...anyway, I’ve got the records here. Looks like it was January...January 25th, 1961. At the Kaiserkeller, in Hamburg.”</p><p>Paul smiled. They’d found it. “Good, thank you. Thanks, Allan. You’re the best.”</p><p>“No problem,” Allan said. “So, how’s life been for ya?”</p><p>Paul swallowed. He hadn’t wanted to keep talking. “Good, good, fine. Listen, Allan, I’ve got to...go. Real quick. Okay? I’ll call you back, ‘kay?”</p><p>Allan sighed again. “Yeah, sure.”</p><p>Quick as a flash, Paul slammed the phone onto the wall. “January 25th,” he told John. “C’mon, let’s go. The sooner the better.”</p><p>“It’s gonna be so good to see Stu again,” John said wistfully as they went into the rain again. “I haven’t seen him in four years. Well, besides for pictures. But they’re not really the same.”</p><p>“Yeah, okay, c’mon. Let’s go,” Paul said. He glanced up at the sky as raindrops stung his eyes. “John, how many years do you think clouds last?”</p><p>“A thousand years,” John replied, excitement overwhelming his voice.</p><p>“D’ya think...five years?”</p><p>Then, Paul gave a massive tug, and they tripped again, on their way to 1961, and a fight that once had faded into obscurity.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Also sehr falsch!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Paul was getting a little bit tired of having to wake up with a throbbing head. Groaning, he expected to feel cool concrete again, but instead he was met with a foul-smelling, questionably stained mattress underneath him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Drawing his head up, he stared down at it for a good four and a half minutes. He had seen it before, many times, but his mind was drawing a complete blank. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he heard someone turn over not far from him. Head snapping up, he could see a very dark room with a small window in the corner. Flashing red lights were outside, and a little bit of snow was falling. Clothes littered the floor, and roughed-up suitcases were piled in the corner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another wave of nostalgia hit Paul. Hamburg.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reached back behind him to fumble for the black blanket he used to sleep under. He usually shared a mattress with George, but his bandmate’s spot was empty and cold. He looked over at the other mattress, which John shared with Stu, and could only see John. So that must mean...they were out!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul slid out of bed (if you could even call it that) and padded over to John. For January, he had almost nothing on except for a white t-shirt and the shortest boxers imaginable. He cursed his younger self for being too proud to put on some </span>
  <em>
    <span>clothes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaking John’s shoulder, he hissed: “Wake up. We’re here!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A grunt and a groan from John’s end, and then Paul could see the light reflect in his brown eyes, now open. “You smell like shit,” John muttered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul scowled. “Right back atcha.” He leaned back and looked around the floor for any clothes that might fit him. “C’mon, we probably don’t have a lot of time to save Stu.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John was sitting up in bed, his hair looking like a rat’s nest. He rubbed his eyes and blinked a couple times. “Can’t see anythin’,” he grumbled. “You’re Paul, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I’m Winston Churchill,” Paul answered, tossing a pair of pants at John’s face. “Put these on. We’re going out in a few minutes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s so bloody </span>
  <em>
    <span>cold</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” John said as he tugged on a black leather jacket and the pants. “Did we not have anything to wear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul peered into a broken mirror and pushed back his hair. He was in the middle of pompadour-moptop transition, and his hair was still trying to decide what it wanted to do. He sighed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Good enough</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘M about to get it pulled out in a fight, anyway.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, John. Don’t you wanna help Stu?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, duh,” John slid out the door behind Paul. “But I just didn’t expect us to get up so soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s probably midnight,” Paul commented as they padded down the tight, congested hotel room hallways. “We should be getting done with our show soon. Where was it, at the Kaiserkeller Club?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yea,” Paul nodded. They had gotten to the exit and were now standing in the snow. John looked like he wanted to light a cigarette, but he probably knew there was no time. “Okay. Kaiserkeller Club. Remember where it is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Haven’t a clue,” John replied. “At least, not from here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fantastic.” Paul sighed. “Can we ask someone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John looked around. There weren’t many people on the streets, though club lights were buzzing and flashing. “I dunno, maybe,” he peered around the corner of the hotel and spotted somebody in a large coat and hood walking discreetly down the sidewalk. Something about him rubbed Paul the wrong way, but of course John walked right up to him. “Hey, d’ya know where the Kaiserkeller is, mate?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man cleared his throat a couple times. “Go west on Reeperbahn, south on Große Freiheit, and then west again on Schmukstraße,” he said gruffly, attempting to sound like he had broken English. It sounded like he was trying to obscure his voice, and Paul couldn’t figure out why. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, mate,” John said. He whirled around and grabbed Paul’s arm. “Kay, y’know what he said. Let’s go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul kept walking but looked over his shoulder. The man was just standing there, under the streetlight, snow falling around him. His head tilted up, and there was a glitter of caramel-brown in his eyes. Paul felt a stone in his gut. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Eric?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t shake the feeling as John tried to follow the man’s directions. But he couldn’t see a thing on the street signs, so Paul had to read them all. Eventually, they made it to the Kaiserkeller, and Paul felt like his nose was going to fall off. It was so cold. He was almost looking forward to this fight...it would warm him up a bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Immediately he took that back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, let’s go to the back of the club,” John said. “That’s where Stu’ll be packin’ up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait,” Paul stopped him. They were in the middle of the road, and remembering James, he shepherded John to the other side. “What about our other selves? Won’t they see us fightin’ and be confused?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John nodded. “Oh, yeah. Forgot about them.” Then his eyes lit up. “What about James? He knows about our time travel. Maybe he can distract the younger me while we go out and kick those guys’ asses.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Brilliant,” Paul grinned. “Okay. So...you stay out here and watch in case anythin’ goes wrong. I’ll go in the club and find James, alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Roger,” John said, and the two went their separate ways.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was surprisingly little security at the club, but it was just 1961. Paul managed to blend into a crowd of older men and get inside. It was terribly dark, loud, and cramped, and Paul almost tripped multiple times. He could hear the muffled music not far off, and he had to get through the sea of people to get to the band. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, he knocked into somebody. It was an older guy, and he turned around, most obviously drunk. He spat out some curses in fierce German and took a swing at Paul’s head. The latter ducked just in time and weaseled between a few girls. Then as his head popped up for a breath of “fresh” air, he spotted them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Beatles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was struck in awe for a moment. He’d never seen </span>
  <em>
    <span>himself</span>
  </em>
  <span> play on stage, but there he was. James was bobbing around beside John as per usual, hardly tired at all, while Stu faded to the back, eyes dark and brooding. Pete Best titter-tattered on in the background while little George went hard on his rickety guitar. It was...so </span>
  <em>
    <span>dysfunctional,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but so perfect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul fought through the crowd to get to the front. He stood behind a few people, peering between the spaces to see James. He stared hard at him, praying his younger self would catch his eye, but James was scanning the bar far behind him.  Paul sighed in frustration as the song finished, and John made a closing joke. The bar roared with drunk laughter and the Beatles exited the stage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even more irritated, Paul quickly leaped up the stage steps and behind the curtains. Luckily, James was lingering behind, his guitar cord having caught on something. He looked so much older than he did a day ago. “James!” Paul said, bolting towards him. “James, it’s me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glanced up at Paul, and it took a minute for him to register. “You!” he cried. “Oh my god, hey! I haven’t seen you in years!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul nodded with a swallow. “Listen, James, can you do somethin’ real quick for me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, sure,” James said, unplugging his guitar and kicking the cord somewhere else. “What is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Distract John from leaving the bar,” Paul said. “Please, just don’t let him leave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll explain after. Please. For me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, yeah, sure...I—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, James.” Paul said. “I’ll tell you after, I promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James nodded, but there was a longing to talk in his eyes. Paul flashed him a quick smile. He bolted out the back door again and then gently shut it behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he let out a relieved breath. He knew James wouldn’t let him down. He swallowed and closed his eyes, trying to hear what was going on around the other side of the building.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was relatively quiet, except for a few bumps. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It must be Stu packing up the car,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Paul thought as he wiped snowflakes off of his nose. He could barely see John’s silhouette leaning against a lamppost. Smoke was coming up from his mouth; he had lit a cigarette. Paul knew he was probably nervous. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the next band began to play inside, Paul slowly crept over to John. “I got him to distract you,” he whispered, following John’s gaze. Stu was indeed putting their guitars in the back of a van. “Have you seen anybody?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John just shook his head. He looked so pensive and worried he was probably in his own world, escaping from what they were about to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, Paul caught a flash from behind Stu. Then, in an instant, somebody jumped out and tackled Stuart onto the ground. “Go!” Paul cried, and John immediately went over, snow spraying from his heels. Paul followed, balling up his fists in preparation for defense. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I can’t let Stu get on the ground, that’s their vantage point to kick him.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Paul thought. John jumped Stu’s attacker and Paul shoved him out of the way behind the van. “Stay there,” he said to Stuart, whose brown eyes were flashing in terror.</span>
</p><p> <span>More of the gang had poured out from the shadows as George and Pete came outside. Immediately George raced over, while Pete just looked shocked before following. </span></p><p>
  <span>Paul spotted one of the gang members coming towards Stu. He went swiftly over and jumped him from behind, grabbing onto his hair and pulling as hard as he could. The member’s head flew back and Paul delivered the hardest sock in the nose he could manage. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is for killing John’s best friend, you asshole!</span>
  </em>
  <span> The member swung at Paul’s head, but fueled with adrenalin he ducked in time and gave the guy a punch in the gut. He stumbled back with a groan, and Paul had time to look up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John, George, and Pete were fighting like knights in shining armor. Paul could see the rage in John’s eyes and he delivered three expertly-aimed throws to the biggest member’s head. Then Paul recognized John’s opponent; it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>Eric!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly he felt a heavy impact on the side of his head. Stumbling back, he fell onto the snow. The gang member he’d punched earlier was standing over him. The toes of his boots were steel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Terror seized Paul up and he tried to scramble up to his feet, but he slipped and fell again. “John!” he cried, unable to rip his gaze from the steel-toed boots that had killed Stuart. He flinched as the member prepared to kick. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, he fell another great load on top of him, and he looked up in surprise. John and Stu had tackled the guy together, but he’d landed on Paul. “Go, go!” Stu yelled, helping Paul to his feet and pushing him into the dark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul limped to the next building over. Something didn’t feel right in his left ankle. He groaned and slid down the wall, grabbing his leg and trying not to make too much noise. He might be noticed. Pulling up his pant leg, he saw a very unnatural lump in his ankle. He realized with a sinking feeling that he must have broken something.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dammit,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought. It wouldn’t be long before one of the gang members noticed he was there. He had to crawl to safety. Putting his stomach to the cold ground, he dragged himself down the sidewalk, trying his best not to let his injured leg hit the ground. Once he was out of sight, he sat on the steps of someone’s store as pained tears filled his eyes. The steel on the gang member’s boots must have hit something in his ankle hard enough for it to break, either that or Paul’s leg had been positioned in a way that the member falling on it must have been so unnatural it broke. Either way, it hurt like hell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh mein Gott, geht es dir gut?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul looked up at whoever was talking. He was in too much pain to even attempt at translating properly, but he knew the group of girls standing in front of him were asking him if he was alright. “N-nein,” he muttered. “I’m not…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of the girls said something urgently to another. There were about five of them, and the smallest raced off, probably to find a phone. “Mach dir keine Sorgen, wir bekommen Hilfe,” a very light blond-haired one said. Paul just stared at her for a few moments. They were talking about getting help?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Gib ihm deinen Mantel, Irene,” the blond rattled off, and another girl took off her pristine white coat and put it around Paul’s shoulders. For some reason it made him shiver even more, but he was glad for their kindness. But his ankle was throbbing, and he leaned over with a wince.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smallest came back a few minutes later, somehow running in high heels. “Hilfe ist auf dem Weg. Ich rief einen Krankenwagen!” she panted. Paul heard the word help, called, and ambulance in the mix, so he hoped everything was going to be alright.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t hear anymore of the scuffle from the Kaiserkeller a few doors down, but he must have been too far away. He knew John was probably worried sick about him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few minutes later an ambulance poured down the road, blaring and wailing. Two men got out, both dressed in blue and looking very exhausted. “Er hat sich den Knöchel gebrochen, denken wir,” the blond said. “Er ist englisch.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>He broke his ankle, we think…he is English.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“In Ordnung,” one of the paramedics nodded. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Okay.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The two of them hurried over to Paul and helped him get to his feet. “</span>
  <span>Kannst du Deutsch sprechen?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Can you speak German?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul nodded with a wince. “E-ein wenig,” he muttered. </span>
  <em>
    <span>A little. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Every time he attempted to even put his foot down a shooting pain traveled up his leg. One of the paramedics pulled out a stretcher while the other and a few of the girls helped Paul onto it. Relieved to have the weight lifted from his leg, he called out to the girls before the doors shut: “Vielen Dank!”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thank you!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. And So I'm Telling You, This Time You Better Stop!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I apologize to any German-speaking readers I may have, I was using Google Translate for this :'0</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The next thing Paul knew he was blinking his eyes open in a white-washed hospital room. There was a curtain drawn between him and what he was assuming was another patient. Everything was pristine and set perfectly, and Paul glanced down to see his injured ankle tightly wrapped up in bandages. The unnatural bone sticking out was gone. They had set it right. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then the memories of what had happened last night flooded back to him. He knew John and the others were probably terrified for him. They probably thought he was kidnapped or murdered or just...left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He needed to get out of here as soon as possible. He needed to find them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But before he could do that, he had to think for a moment. Eric had returned to crush John’s feelings again. Paul </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> to stop him, because he knew Eric probably wouldn’t fail three times. But how?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe he could find Eric’s time-travel spot and destroy it. But there was a catch; if Eric’s way of traveling was Paul’s crack, then destroying it would keep Paul </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> Eric in the past forever. Who knows what could happen then?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He heard a grunt and a sigh from the other side of the curtain and sat still for a minute. But then it was quiet again. He looked around for something that could alert a nurse, but there was nothing. So he just sat there for a minute, mulling over the same repetitive thoughts. Paul was at a dead end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It felt like four hours before the door finally clicked open. A plump, small lady in a white dress came in with a rattling tray. “</span>
  <span>Sprichst du Englisch?” she said, setting the tray on the bedside table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Paul answered as he began sitting up a bit straighter. “I’m from Liverpool.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The nurse dropped the German. “Oh, good,” she said. “I’m from Ireland. But my husband lives here, and he loves it, and I’m not gonna make him sad by leaving.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh…” Paul trailed off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The nurse turned her gaze to him. “Why’re you here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul stared at his lap. “I’m in a band.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yes, we get a lot of those ‘round here,” said the nurse. “I’m Addie, by the way.” She sighed and began to gently lift Paul’s ankle. “Yes, it’s mighty broken, alright. Do you have somebody to help you do things?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Paul nodded. “But my band doesn’t have a clue where I am. I’m with them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Addie nodded. “Oh, that’s a shame. Is there a number we can call?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul knew the hotel room had a phone, but he had no clue what the number is. Feeling defeated, he just shook his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, do you know where they are?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, yeah,” Paul struggled to remember the hotel name, and then it came to him. “Lafayette. Hotel Lafayette, they should be there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Addie nodded once more. “Okay, good,” she said. “That’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>too</span>
  </em>
  <span> far. Somebody can probably drive you there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In a taxi?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How else would you get around?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul nodded. “True.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Addie sighed, straightening the sheets a little bit. “I’ll bring a doctor in here in a minute, okay, dear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Paul grunted as she left. Hopefully getting back to his band would be as easy as that conversation. He leaned back on his pillow and stared down at his ankle. He hoped everybody was alright. He was sure glad he’d made it out alive. The memory of those steel-toed boots flashed in his memory.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul glanced over at the curtain drawn between him and the other patient. He could barely see who was back there, but they had a dark mop of greasy yellow hair. It was probably an older person, based on the wheezing in their breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door opened again and another woman stepped in, this time in a white coat. She was a doctor, Paul was assuming. “Hallo, Ich heiße Dr. Weber,” she said. “Du sprichst Englisch, richtig? Aus Liverpool?” She was asking him if he spoke English and if he was from Liverpool, so he just nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” she said. “I’m German, but...we get a lot of English speakers, so I learned it pretty quickly.” She sighed and clasped her hands together. “So. You broke your ankle. How?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well...I’m in a band, and a fight broke out after our show, y’know,” Paul explained. “One of my friends pushed this guy down on top of me...</span>
  <em>
    <span>accidentally,</span>
  </em>
  <span> of course...and I guess it broke my ankle. He had steel-toed boots, so that might have contributed. But he was real big. Real big.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Weber nodded. “Okay, okay, good to know,” she said. “I’m sure this doesn’t mean anything to you, but you have a lateral malleolus fracture. It’s the most common type of ankle fracture, so it’s not too big of a deal. You can still walk...sort of, but you’ll probably need crutches.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul sighed. “Yeah...yeah, I expected tha’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So Nurse Addie said you were in a band,” Dr. Weber added. “And that you needed to get back to them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you can be discharged today, since the fracture isn’t too severe, but you can’t play anymore.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul felt disappointed for a moment, but then he realized it didn’t matter much. James could still play. “Alright,” he shrugged. “Can...can I just get outta here? I’m gettin’ kinda antsy to see ‘em again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Weber smiled. “Sure. Sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After giving him the do’s and don’t’s of having a broken ankle (which Paul didn’t really listen to, considering it wouldn’t be broken for a long time) before piling him into a wheelchair and letting him leave the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was quite embarrassing to be pushed down the hallways in a wheelchair when he could very well use the crutches Addie was holding to walk, but it was pretty early in the morning and nobody was awake yet. Paul drummed his fingers on the armrests, hoping John would be at the hotel and not looking for him. If John had left, who </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> what would happen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They eventually got outside to the sidewalk. The sky was still pale gray with winter clouds, and melting piles of snow heaped up at the corners and gutters. Addie leaned forward to look back and forth. “I don’t know if a taxi’s goin’ to be around in a while,” she said. “We might have to wait here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul sighed in annoyance. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Gosh</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what band d’ya play for?” Addie said, trying to make conversation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re called the Beatles,” Paul responded. He hadn’t had to answer that question in years. He leaned back to look up at Addie. “We’re gonna be big, y’know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Addie’s eyes brightened with a smile. “Oh, you are?” she said. Paul could tell that she thought he had false hope, and honestly, he didn’t blame her. Right now there were so many bands trying to be famous, and the Beatles just weren’t quite up there yet. But Addie would see. One day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She spotted a black car coming down the street and waved her arms. “Taxi!” she called. “Taxi!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The car pulled over and rolled down one window. “</span>
  <span>Entschuldigung, Ma'am, ich nehme keine Leute mit Rollstühlen,” he said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sorry, ma’am. I don’t take people with wheelchairs.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mach dir keine Sorgen, er braucht es nicht,” Addie assured him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, don’t worry. He doesn’t need it. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She helped Paul up and gave him the crutches and some money for the ride. It took a moment for him to ease onto them, but he got comfortable. “Thank you, Addie,” he said genuinely. He didn’t know why, but she seemed very important to him. Maybe it was because his mother was a nurse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re welcome,” Addie replied as Paul got into the back of the car. “And Paul?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glanced up. “Yea?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She beamed at him. “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> be big. I just know it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>✦✦✦✦</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few minutes later, the cab pulled up beside the hotel. Paul practically threw the money at the driver with a quick “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Vielen Dank”</span>
  </em>
  <span> and got out of the car. He couldn’t limp fast enough to the door and pushed his way inside, holding his crutches underneath his arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without stopping he sped his way down the hall, even daring to put his injured foot down to go faster (an idea which he quickly abandoned). He got down the hallway and to the door he </span>
  <em>
    <span>thought</span>
  </em>
  <span> was theirs, jiggling the handle. “John! Stu! Geo, it’s me. I’m back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no response on the other side. Paul pressed his ear against the door. “John?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Paul spat, leaning back against the wall. They were gone, and he didn’t have a key to get in. He couldn’t just stand here till they got back, which very well could have been an hour or two from now. Maybe he could ask somebody up front. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>L</span>
  <span>imping back to the front desk, he tried to summon the right words he wanted to use. “Gesehene Leute aus Raum 305 gehen aus?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Have you seen people from room 305 go out?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He was not entirely sure that was right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ich erinnere mich nicht,” the man behind the desk snapped. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t remember.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Glaubst du wirklich, ich verfolge, wer in jedem Zimmer bleibt, Junge?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Do you really think I keep track of who's staying in each room, boy?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nein...Entschuldigung,” Paul sighed.</span>
  <em>
    <span> No, sorry</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Then he looked up. “Haben Sie einen Zimmerschlüssel?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Do you have a spare room key?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The man opened a drawer and dug through a bunch of keys. He looked awfully irritated at Paul’s question and eventually slapped a key down on the desk. “Verliere nicht deine Schlüssel!” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t lose your keys!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Es tut mir leid,” Paul apologized. He quickly turned down the hallway and jammed the key into the hole, opening the door. Just as suspected, nobody was inside the room. Sighing, Paul dropped his crutches by his designated mattress and sat down. This was a disaster. He wished he hadn’t crawled away from the fight...at least he could have known where his friends went.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hoped they were alright. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul spotted a guitar case on the ground, so he opened it for something to do. It was an acoustic of George’s. Paul turned it around to fit his left-handed-ness and began to pluck at the strings. He tried to remember that song he’d come up with back in 1958.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Penny…” he started, attempting to jog his memory. “Penny </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lane</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He strummed a few notes and then re-tuned it. George only properly tuned his guitars right before a show, a habit he’d picked up from Paul. “Penny Lane, there is a…barber showing photographs…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Showing photographs of what?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul grinned. “Of every head...he’s had the pleasure to know,” he murmured, strumming along to his liking. “And all the people that come and go...stop and say hello—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly Paul heard a massive bang on the door. Dropping George’s guitar onto the mattress, he stared up at it, heart starting to pound. That couldn’t have been John or George. It sounded vicious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then there was another bang, and a grumble from outside. Very slowly, Paul crawled over to it, pressing his ear against it again. He could hear a sputter of curses and hissing. It was Eric!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul stared down at his ankle and looked around for a place to hide. There was no way he could fight him. He spotted a closet and dragged himself over, burying himself in the heap of clothes and gently closing the door behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only thing he could hear was his shaky, terrified breathing for a moment. Then there was another loud bang, and the door crashed to the floor. Paul held his breath, moving deeper underneath the heap of jackets, shirts and pants. He prayed he couldn’t be seen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take everythin’ you can,” Eric was saying. There must have been other people in the room. “Money, instruments, clothes, everythin’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul swallowed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Crap.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He heard a couple of coins fall onto the ground and George’s guitar being picked up.</span>
  <em>
    <span> Dear god, they’re going to take everything we have,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Paul thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What’s going to happen now?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He pushed a sleeve out of the way to see underneath the door. Boots were scuffling around the room, some of them steel-toed. Paul watched item after item be stolen and disappearing. He felt sick watching all of his stuff go away. Some of those guitars had been used in their later shows. This was going to taint the timeline so badly...Paul didn’t know if they could recover from it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For half a second, he regretted telling Addie they would be big. Because now he wasn’t so sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul looked around the closet in haste for something to defend himself with. He vaguely remembered John having a pocketknife and cutting his strings during one of their shows, but Paul doubted it would be in here. He searched every pair of pants in there, but there was nothing in the pockets. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, look,” somebody said from outside. “There are </span>
  <em>
    <span>crutches </span>
  </em>
  <span>in here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crutches?” Eric marched over and snatched them from his friend. “Why the hell are these in here? Nobody uses crutches in here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe someone needed them from last night. Maybe it was that little black-haired kid who crawled away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Paul?” Eric said. “But if he needed the crutches why would he leave them here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe he’s not gone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul felt a pit in his stomach. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, shit. They’ve caught onto me.</span>
  </em>
  <span> His head was spinning. He very quietly slid underneath the cover of clothes again. His heart was pounding so loud he was sure somebody outside could hear it. Paul was sure he was going to die today. They would really let him have it when they found him. There were no </span>
  <em>
    <span>if</span>
  </em>
  <span>s about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, Paul heard the closet door rip open, and he could barely see shadows form across the ground. They had found him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul stayed completely silent as they tore his hiding spot off of him. Whirling his head around, he could see Eric standing over him, a vicious snarl on his face. “Thought you could get away from me, eh?” he growled, grabbing Paul by his collar and hauling him up with shocking strength. “Where are yer little friends?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul held his injured foot up, hoping they wouldn’t realize he was hurt. “I don’t know, Eric,” he insisted. “I came in and they were all gone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” Eric said, glaring at him. “Tell us where they are!” He shook Paul hard, nearly dropping him on the ground again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul’s mind fumbled for a random place he remembered. “They’re at the—uh—</span>
  <em>
    <span>Star Club,</span>
  </em>
  <span> okay?” he said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Star Club?” Eric said. “What’s that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul swallowed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It doesn’t exist yet. Shit!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s gettin’ cheeky with us!” one of the other men yelled. Eric raised his fist to sock Paul in the face, but the latter used his hands to block it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not, I’m sorry, okay?” he said. “I don’t know where they are, I swear. If I did, I would tell you, promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re bringin’ you with us, then,” Eric said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are you goin’ that’s so important?” Paul replied snappishly, trying his luck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eric very nearly bashed his head in with the punch that followed. “We’re goin’ to find your little</span>
  <em>
    <span> shit </span>
  </em>
  <span>friends and give them a talkin’ to,” he said, finally letting go of Paul’s collar. The latter fell onto the mattress, looking around for  his crutches. He couldn’t go anywhere without them. How was he going to get out of this one?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They could be all over Hamburg by now,” Paul said. “Doubt you’re gonna find ‘em.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eric turned his sharp gaze to Paul. “We think you know where they are, but you’re not gonna tell us,” he said. “So we’re going t’ take you with us until you finally spill.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul gulped. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Crap.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Squeezin' the Rye</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Trigger warning for mentions of neglect in this chapter! 🍋</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The six of them piled into Eric’s rusty old car (the same one he’d used to hit Julia), Paul sandwiched in the back between two of Eric’s massive cronies. He hid his bandaged ankle behind his better one, pulling his pant leg down lower to hide it. He had managed to limp down the hallway without using his ankle much. He could practically see Dr. Weber glaring at him.</p><p>He stayed completely silent as Eric and his friends jabbered on. Their conversations were so dull and simple. Paul was glad he didn’t hang around with such boring people like them.</p><p>They stopped by the Kaiserkeller, pulling up to a hauling stop. Since it was about noon it was almost empty, but Eric’s friends spilled in, pushing the doors open with considerable animosity. Paul had to lean against the car door, preparing himself for the long and painful trip inside the club. </p><p>Inside, it was very empty. Trash from the previous night littered the floors. Paul grabbed onto a bar stool, trying to catch his breath. He could see Eric and his friends prowling around, looking for John. Paul looked past Eric’s head to see the room where his band had been playing last night. Maybe he could hide in there, so Eric wouldn’t find him and make him walk more. </p><p>Paul slid through the doorway and into the stage room. Gray light was coming in through the windows. Using the wall to help steady himself, Paul creeped backstage and tried to find a place to hide. His eyes searched the ceiling and the floor.</p><p>Just then, he spotted a long black cord sticking out of one of a crack in the floor, between the floorboards. Paul very slowly crouched down, keeping all his weight on his better leg, and pulled on the cord. It stuck. </p><p>Quietly, Paul lifted the floorboard. A few others came up along with it. Paul stared down the dark hole, wondering if he could squeeze underneath there. Well, he’d never know if he didn’t try. Paul very gently lowered himself into the hole, hesitantly feeling for the ground with his good leg. Grabbing the cord down with him, Paul shut the floorboards on top of him as the hole filled with darkness. </p><p>As he looked further down the shaft, he could see little slivers of light. He must have been under the stage! Eric would never find him here. He crawled a bit deeper down there and peered through the cracks. The room was still empty. Paul smiled to himself and crouched down even further. He’d never be found. </p><p>Paul took the time to check on his ankle. Strangely, it hadn’t been bothering him too badly, but there was still a dull ache whenever he touched it. He sighed. He hadn’t meant to stay in ‘61 this long. </p><p>Suddenly, he heard someone come in. Eyes growing wide, he got lower to the ground and looked through the holes to see who was there. His heart leapt when he realized it was John, prowling through the room, gaze sharp. He stopped in the center and looked around. “Paul?” he hissed. He was trying to hide from Eric too. “Paul, you in here?”</p><p>Very gently, Paul reached out his fist and knocked on the stage walls. John glanced over at it, hesitant. Paul smiled to himself and knocked again, but not so loud Eric’s gang would hear. </p><p>John marched over, huddling beside the spot where Paul had knocked. “Are you <em> in </em> the stage?” he whispered. It was like even he thought that was crazy, and he didn’t want to embarrass himself by asking.</p><p>“Yeah,” Paul answered, and relief filled John’s eyes. “I’m hiding from them.”</p><p>“Paul,” John sighed. He leaned his head against the side of the stage with a grateful sigh. “I thought you’d died.”</p><p>“Nah, my ankle just snapped,” Paul laughed as John tried to lift up the rest of the stage. It worked, but a loud creak echoed through the room. </p><p>“What?” John said, eyes growing wide. “It did?”</p><p>“Yeah, one of the guys fell on me and it broke,” Paul answered. “I had to crawl away from the fight, but these girls called an ambulance for me. I stayed the night there, and then I went back to the flat, but...you can see what happened there.”</p><p>“They found you,” John nodded. “How’d you get around, with your ankle broken, then?”</p><p>“I had to limp,” Paul answered quietly. “I couldn’t let them know it was broken. I had crutches, but I had to leave them.”</p><p>“That’s terrible...oh, Paul, I’m so glad I found you,” John sighed. “But now we need to get out of here.”</p><p>“The door’s out there,” Paul hopped out of the stage and sat against it. “It shouldn’t take long to leave.”</p><p>“No, I’m going to confront them,” growled John. </p><p>“You can’t,” Paul shook his head. “They’ll pulverize you.”</p><p>“I’m not looking for a fight,” John snapped, which contradicted his statement completely. “I just want to know why they would want to hurt Stu...and you.”</p><p>“John, trust me, I <em> know </em> not to do these sort of things…” Paul tried to go after him, but he saw a shadow forming in the doorway. Feeling his stomach drop, Paul watched as Eric and his gang surrounded them. John saw them too, but if he was terrified it didn’t show. He just narrowed his eyes like he was trying to figure out something.</p><p>“Eric…” he muttered. “Is that you?”</p><p>Paul felt glass shatter in the back of his head. Oh, <em> god. </em> He’d never told John Eric’s plan to ruin him. How had John not seen his face during the fight? </p><p>“So you’ve finally figured it out, huh, <em> Johnny </em>?” Eric sneered. </p><p>John stepped back, having to lean against the stage. “It was you, wasn’t it?” he said, voice dripping with hatred. “<em> You </em> killed Stu. And you... <em> and </em> you killed my mother!” Paul watched as John lurched forward, about to give Eric a good, well-deserved sock. But Eric grabbed his wrist with a grip like iron. </p><p>“You deserved it, Lennon,” he growled, and Paul flinched. “You ruined <em> so </em> many peoples’ lives. So I’m going to ruin yours.”</p><p>“Who’s lives did I <em> ruin </em>?” John snarled. Paul could see his intent to try another swing, but Eric held on tight. </p><p>“Your wife’s, for one? Your <em> son’s </em>?” </p><p>“I didn’t do<em> anything </em> to them,” John protested, snatching his hand back from Eric. </p><p>“Oh, sure, sure,” Eric nodded slowly. “No, you didn’t <em> neglect </em> them. You didn’t <em> ignore </em> your son.”</p><p>Paul gazed over at John, who was staring at the ground. There was so much regret and anger in his eyes. </p><p>“Right,” Eric replied with a seedy smile.. “That’s what I thought...I’d be <em> embarrassed </em> to call John <em> my </em> fath— <em> ow </em>!”</p><p>John had grabbed Eric by the collar and shoved him up against the wall. “You piece of <em> shit </em>!” he roared. “You don’t have the right to talk about my family!”</p><p>Eric shoved John off of him, and he stumbled back onto the carpet. Paul closed his eyes with a deep sigh. He’d known this would happen. Of course John had to go and make everything harder.</p><p>Eric stared down at John  like he was something on the bottom of his shoe. “I’m not going to punish you right now, Lennon,” he growled, “but you’ll get what’s coming to you. Just you watch.” Then, Eric whirled around and stalked off, the rest of his gang following him. The door to the club closed with a slam, and it was silent for a moment.</p><p>John just sat there, bewildered, before turning around and pushing himself up. He turned around to stare at Paul, no emotions in his eyes. </p><p>“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Paul murmured.</p><p>John’s gaze flashed. “You <em> knew </em>?”</p><p>Paul felt a pang of regret. “I forgot to tell you what Eric was trying to do,” he said, leaning forward as he tried to reason with John. “It was just...so much happening at once. I didn’t remember!”</p><p>John glared at him, full and unwielded anger. Paul had never seen him look at him like that before, and he didn’t know what to do for a second. “You didn’t think I’d like to <em> know </em>?”</p><p>“I’m <em> sorry </em>…” Paul sighed. “I...I didn’t mean to.”</p><p>John sniffed and turned around to walk away. “Wait, where are you going?” Paul tried to stand up, but his ankle stung and he had to lean against the stage again. </p><p>“I’m going back to ‘66,” John muttered. “I’ll ask Geo to come around and pick you up.”</p><p>“John, don’t go without me,” Paul said. “I promise I’m sorry...I just forgot to tell you…”</p><p>John whirled around with a scowl like nothing Paul’d ever seen. “Sorry doesn’t cut it for me, Paul. I don’t want to talk to you again.” With that, he left the Kaiserkeller and slammed the door behind him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. She's So Heavy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was quiet. Very quiet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul stared down at the crack stretching across the ground in Wimpole. He could hear the wind blowing him sideways. He could smell the thick smoke pouring through the tops of the buildings silhouetted against the pale gray sky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he couldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John had left him. He ‘never wanted to talk to him’ again, apparently. Paul was alone in 1961, and he didn’t really know if he wanted to go back to 1966.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed, running a hand through his black hair. The journey from Hamburg had been long and tiring. All he wanted to </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> was return to home, but at the same time, he’d have to confront the fact that he and John weren’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>friends</span>
  </em>
  <span> anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But at least he wouldn’t have to deal with this annoying broken ankle anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul sighed in exasperation. He didn’t want to do this again. He was tired of hitting his head and waking up woozy and feeling terrible. It seemed like the entire world was on his shoulders again, and he was done with it. So what if John didn’t want to speak to him again? All </span>
  <em>
    <span>Paul</span>
  </em>
  <span> wanted to do was sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed, closing his eyes. “How long d’ya think clouds last?” he muttered, staring up at the dull gray sky. “Do you think...five years?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dropping his crutches, he let himself trip. A bit of nausea came up in his throat as he hit his head, but it faded away quickly. Hopefully this would be the last time he’d ever have to do this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>✦✦✦✦</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first thing Paul felt was sun against his face. And then his hands on the gravel. Blinking his eyes open a few times, he could see the bleary world around him. It wasn’t raining anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul stood up and brushed himself off, still having to put light weight on his ankle. When he figured it was alright, he stared up at his door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t want to go inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He went inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As expected, Jane wasn’t home. But Paul was sort of glad she was gone...he didn’t want her to ask him what on </span>
  <em>
    <span>earth</span>
  </em>
  <span> had gotten into him or anything like that. He looked around; not much had changed, except there was a new painting on his wall. It was covered in dark red, black, and a bit of orange and terribly abstract. There was a very rushed signature in the bottom right corner. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stu</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul leaned back. Still making art, was he? John’s flat was probably covered in his paintings...there probably wasn’t one empty wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wondered if he should ring John up. There was a chance he wouldn’t even want to talk to him, though. A very large chance. A 90% chance, 95% if Paul was being realistic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Through the doorway into the kitchen, he could see the telephone sitting on the cradle. It was calling him. Sighing, he looked away. All he wanted to do was sleep...he was exhausted and angry and sad and </span>
  <em>
    <span>tired.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>So he did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>✦✦✦✦</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul slept through the whole afternoon and the whole night. At some point he heard Jane come home, but not much after that. He didn’t really see any point in waking up. Would the Beatles even exist now? He was too tired to figure out the specifics.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He woke up at about 10:40 the next morning to a ringing phone. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fantastic.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He opened his eyes and rubbed them, sitting up slowly. Jane covered her head with a pillow. “Are you gonna get it?” she mumbled, still half-asleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah,” Paul slid out of bed and padded across the room to get it. “Hello?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Paul?” It was George.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Somebody’s here at the studio t’see ya. He sounds like he’s from Liverpool. He says he knows ya.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul felt ice slowly spread through his body. “Wha-what does he say his name is, then?” he said, hoping and praying it wasn’t Eric.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t remember, hold on.” There was quiet on the other line. “He says he’s called James. I think he’s related to ya, Paul. He looks...</span>
  <em>
    <span>uncannily</span>
  </em>
  <span> similar to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul exhaled in relief. Thank </span>
  <em>
    <span>god.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Yeah...he’s my distant cousin,” he said, practically laughing to himself. “I’ll be there in a mo’, George, alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Kay. Hurry. He’s gettin’ a little impatient.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, alright.” Paul set the phone down and whirled around, heading to the closet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who was that?” Jane murmured.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Geo,” Paul said. “He says someone’s at the studio to see me. Probably just the press or somethin’.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“From where?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a relatively overcast day as Paul headed into the car. So the Beatles were still together, good. But Paul didn’t quite know if John might still be mad at him. Anyhow, why was James here? Paul hoped nothing was wrong, and that the poor lad could keep away from George’s lie detectors.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulled up beside the studio and climbed the stairs. He slid past the receptionist and gave her a nod before standing in front of the frosted studio 2 door. He sighed and pushed his way inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I already told you, he’s comin’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But when?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m right here,” Paul said, shutting the door behind him. James turned around, eyes lighting up with panic. He was from 1961 this time. He looked very disheveled, as this was obviously his first time trying time traveling. “Jeez, what happened to ya?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Paul, you gotta help me,” James hissed. “I’ve been to three different years and I can’t find John anywhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“1958 John or now John?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Either!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul glanced up at George, who was probably trying to pretend like he couldn’t hear them. “So...where have you been?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh...well...I looked for him in 1957, 1961 and today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dear god, how did you even find your way in here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I asked someone on the street,” James said. “It was the scariest thing that’s ever happened to me. How do you time travel so often?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess I’ve just gotten used to it,” Paul shrugged and then shook his head. “Wait...hold on, John is </span>
  <em>
    <span>gone</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Like, everywhere?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” James said. “I was going to try even </span>
  <em>
    <span>further</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the future, but...I didn’t want to go farther than now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay, that’s good,” Paul said. “I can take you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James’s eyes flashed. “To when?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know, just not...now. I don’t know where on earth he would be,” Paul said. “You tried 1958, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, 1957.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul stared at him. “Why wouldn’t you try 1958?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James looked overwhelmed. “I don’t know, I—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, it’s fine.” Paul said. “It’s okay. Come on, James. We gotta go to 1958, he might be there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll explain on the way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James looked over his shoulder at George, who was still trying his best not to eavesdrop. “Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul and James hurried down the front steps. “Okay, get in the car, quick,” Paul said as he got into the driver’s seat. “We don’t know what John could be doing, or if he’s okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James buckled his seatbelt and stared up at the road ahead. “This is so insane…” he whispered to himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know it’s kind of overwhelming on your first go,” Paul said. “Are you tired? You must be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James shrugged. “A little.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When was the last time you slept?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On the bus on the way here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get some rest,” Paul said. This was sort of like talking to Mike. “I don’t want you trailing after me because you haven’t gotten enough rest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James gave him a long look before closing his eyes and leaning his head against the window. Paul sped down the streets, racing back to Wimpole at speeds he was sure were illegal. Poor James. He had just traveled to three different years, but he had somehow managed to not get in trouble. He must be terrified...waking up to find John gone and having to search across time to find him. Paul just didn’t know how he might have thought that time travel was the first way to go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed as they pulled up beside Wimpole. That dangerous crack, as per usual, was there. Paul got out of the car and stared down at it with another deep sigh. </span>
  <em>
    <span>God, John. Where did you go? I really hope you’re alright...whenever you are!</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry, folks, I'm back. I've been taking a lot of long breaks to finish a really big fic I had for another fandom, but now I'm here and back and hopefully I'll be able to work on this a little bit more often!<br/>Also, a question: Do y'all like James as a character? What are your opinions on him? Just curious. <br/>Thanks for sticking around! -Blue 🍋</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. No Strings Could Secure You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>James rubbed his eyes as he stepped out of the car. “We’re already here?” he muttered. “I thought we had a little more time…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry you’re tired, but...John could be in some hot water right now,” Paul said. “Eric could have snatched him or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James tilted his head. “Huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did I not tell you? Eric is a time traveler.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But how’d he get...how…” James tripped over his words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon, let’s go back before it’s too late,” Paul said, grabbing his hand. “How many years do you think clouds last, James?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eight years,” James responded quickly. The usual ritual of tripping occurred, and then they were out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But not for too long.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It felt like Paul passed out for about .3 seconds before his eyes flew open again. He groaned, rubbing the back of his head. This whole tripping thing was getting to be a little much. He blinked a few times, glancing up and around. He was in his old bedroom again, but this time on the floor. “James?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul heard a shifting noise from the bed and a groan. “What…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you awake?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Barely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul sighed and sat up. “You alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” James replied. Paul saw his head pop up over the side of the bed. “Oh, you landed on the floor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, c’mon, then.” Paul stood up and brushed himself off. “We have to find John before it’s too late.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James’s eyes grew wide as saucers. “Too late?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, y’know. He might be doin’ something stupid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James slid out of bed and opened the dresser drawer, throwing a shirt at Paul’s face. “He probably is,” he said. “What do you think he’s doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” Paul replied. “But I’ve a feeling it has to do with Eric.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul sighed. “Well,” he sighed, “hopefully he won’t wreck things up too badly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” replied James. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two snuck out of the house just before Jim came downstairs. It felt strange to be in the exact same day as before, with the exact same temperature, weather, and everything. “Well...where should we check first?” James looked around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go down to Julia’s place and see if he’s there,” Paul offered, not quite knowing if that would do anything. He looked around. “D’ya still have your bike?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James scowled. “Uhm. Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, c’mon!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two piled onto James’s black bicycle and with a grunt of effort, James was off. Paul half-closed his eyes as a cold, sharp wind blew in his face. He hadn’t remembered being this good at riding, but it was nice to know he had the skill. James seemed to have a vague idea of the way there, and he stopped in front of a house on her street. “I think this is it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what’ll happen if we knock on the door?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James swallowed. “Julia will...answer…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This isn’t it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it isn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They rode for a bit longer before pulling up beside a much more familiar looking house. “Okay, </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> is it.” James announced as he slid off the bike. “Well...what are we going to say to John if he’s in there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” Paul admitted. “He doesn’t want to talk to me anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James’s eyes glinted. “What? Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because...well, it’s a long story, but…” he sighed, “Eric has this sort of plan to try and kill Julia and Stu, and I knew about it but didn’t tell him, and now he knows and also hates me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James scowled as paused on the stone path they were walking. “Why didn’t you tell him?” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because...I didn’t have time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have a </span>
  <em>
    <span>time-traveling crack</span>
  </em>
  <span> across your </span>
  <em>
    <span>front door</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” James cried, holding his arm out. He must have looked like a lunatic to the neighbors. “You have all the time in the world!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There was too much going on!” Paul defended himself. “You don’t know how it is, James.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honestly, I don’t blame him!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, shut up. You weren’t there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James’s cheeks bloomed red with embarrassment. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> there!” he growled. “God, Paul, sometimes you’re so irritating. And don’t play the ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>we’re the same person’</span>
  </em>
  <span> card, because we obviously aren’t!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul’s shoulders drooped, defeated. “I know it was stupid, James. I never said I was right,” he muttered. “I’m sorry for...getting you upset.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James glared at him for a while before huffing and marching up to Julia’s door. Paul watched him. Now he knew how terrifying he could be when he was mad. But he still felt awful. Had he really changed for the...worse?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The front door opened to reveal Jackie standing there, her caramel-colored eyes alight with caution. She relaxed when she saw who was there. “Hello?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, is John here?” James said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jackie looked over her shoulder. “Um...no. But he was.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where did he go?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He said he was going to the fish-n’-chips place.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James turned around and glanced at Paul. “Get the bike,” he said, then looked down at Jackie. “Thanks. Say hi to your mother for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will,” Jackie replied, shutting the door. James ran back to Paul, who’d gotten onto the bike and was waiting for him. James pushed him to the back of the seat and slid on the front. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fish-n’-chips place,” he reported. “Don’t know if I can make it all the way there. You might have to take over for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“M’kay,” Paul replied. He didn’t want to say anything that might set James off again. They rode along in silence, the morning winds whipping past them. Paul wondered what John might be doing...of course it had to do with Eric. Paul just hoped he wasn’t doing anything he’d regret. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a couple minutes, Paul was getting conversation-starved. “So...how’s the time-traveling working out for you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James shrugged. “Fine,” he said breathlessly. “Well, not really. It’s tough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Paul replied. “There’s a lot of unspoken rules, I guess. Though we’re the only people...or person...who’s time traveled, as far as I know.” Then he remembered Ringo. “Well...one out of two.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James didn’t say anything. “It can ruin relationships, too.” He looked over his shoulder. “If you’re not careful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul felt ice spread through his blood. “I didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean</span>
  </em>
  <span> to not tell him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was the whole premise of you coming back to 1961. How could you not have told him?” James responded. “He deserves to know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well...he knows now,” Paul said. “There’s no reason to criticize me for it, anyway. He already hates me. I don’t need you to do that job as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James sighed. “I’m just making sure you </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a couple minutes more, they pulled onto Penny Lane again. Seeing the sign, Paul couldn’t help but hum the tune he’d come up with earlier. The words were sort of fuzzy, though. Ah, he could figure them out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They pulled up beside the small green building. James was about to walk right inside, but Paul grabbed his arm. “Wait,” he whispered. “Make sure you’re hidden. Eric is in there, probably. He might see us...and...I dunno, </span>
  <em>
    <span>assume</span>
  </em>
  <span> something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James stared at him for a while, wondering if he should agree with Paul or ignore him out of pure spite, before he decided on the former and crouched down underneath the window’s view. Steadily they both made their way forward and barely glanced up over the window to see who was inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul squinted. He could make out the shape of Eric’s broad shoulders and round head. “Ah, so he’s back there,” he nodded. “Well...is John, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James paused a beat before his head turned. Eyes narrowed, he searched the line of pulled-up cars. “Where’s...where’s Eric’s?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James stood up. “Eric’s car, it’s...not there. Someone else is parked in his usual spot!” he said. “But...if John’s not in there, then…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul tilted his head. How perfectly peculiar. That could only mean Eric was completely oblivious to the fact that his car was gone...and it was a likely factor that John had stolen it!</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Stupid!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“So where could he have gone with it, then?” Paul said. “He could be anywhere in this damn city!” Why did everything have to be so constantly frustrating for him?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, well, let’s figure out the clues,” James answered. They were sitting on the opposite side of the fish-n’-chips place, where Eric had no chance of spotting them. “Jackie said he was here. We get here. Eric is also here. The car is not here. John is also not here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s...that’s all the clues we </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James stayed silent with the notion that Paul was right. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. Fine. Let’s think of places he </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> be going,” Paul said. “We both know John. We know how he is. So...where could he have put that car?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He could be pushing it into the Mersey,” James suggested. “He once told me that he had a dream where he  pushed a car into a river once.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I highly doubt he’s doing that </span>
  <em>
    <span>or</span>
  </em>
  <span> getting away with that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, so what </span>
  <em>
    <span>else</span>
  </em>
  <span> could he be doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe he’s dropping it off at the police,” Paul suggested. “Y’know, so Eric could never have the car back in the first place?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, yeah, that’s gear!” James’s face lit up. “But how would John know where the police are?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trust me, he knows,” Paul replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James laughed. “Okay, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>we</span>
  </em>
  <span> don’t know where the police are,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul scowled. “You don’t know where the police are? You live here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So do </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you seriously think I remember where the police station is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> remember? Sorry, but I’ve got other things on my mind than where the nearest coppers are,” James replied snarkily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul sighed. “Well...alright. I guess we can go </span>
  <em>
    <span>ask</span>
  </em>
  <span> someone then,” he muttered, standing up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well you seem very cheerful today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They hurried down the street to a bank which wasn’t far off. It must have looked a little odd; two, scruffy young identical boys shuffling into a high-esteemed bank. “Excuse me,” James stepped in front of Paul as they got to one of the tellers. “Could you direct me to the nearest police?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We…” James glanced back at Paul, who shrugged. “We </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay…” she bent over and pulled a map out of one of her drawers, spreading it out. “Looks like it’s...Admiral Station on High Park Street.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That’s where Ritchie lives!</span>
  </em>
  <span> Paul thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Or...used to live.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Thank you,” he said before grabbing James and heading out. “Okay. We’ll need to take a bus there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How can we be sure he’s even there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, we’ve gotta try,” Paul muttered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took them a bit to flag a bus down, but eventually one pulled up by their street. “Are you passing by High Park?” Paul asked as James immediately went to the top.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s my fifth stop, so it’ll be awhile,” the driver said gruffly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul sighed, looking over his shoulder. “Fine.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>It would be nice if we had one of those little cell-phones they had in the 2000’s. Then I could just call him, or...text him. I think that was what it’s called. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>There were a few passengers, but they mostly avoided eye contact with James and Paul. Speaking of which, James seemed to have forgotten their earlier quarrel and was now sitting with his face pressed to the window. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Do I really look that dumb all the time?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Paul scowled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leaned forward to look over James’s shoulder. It was really strange, how he had the power to skip from year to year like it was hopscotch. He supposed...when this had all started, that he thought his life was </span>
  <em>
    <span>boring.</span>
  </em>
  <span> But now he realized that everybody else’s mundane was ten times worse than his. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And really…</span>
  </em>
  <span> Paul thought, watching James’s eyes reflect the passing clouds, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I can enjoy the little things. Not everything always has to be big, big, big.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, they pulled up beside Admiral Station. Paul barely recognized it, but he knew it from passing by to go to Ringo’s home. “Well...let’s hope he’s here,” Paul said as they hopped out. “If he’s not...I dunno what to do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inside, it was pretty quiet. There was a phone ringing in the back, but the front desk was empty. James gave Paul a puzzled glance as they made their way over. “Is anyone even here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think so,” Paul said. “Hello?” There was no answer. “Why would </span>
  <em>
    <span>nobody</span>
  </em>
  <span> be here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could we try in the back?” James asked, nodding to the door. Paul shrugged and went over to it. Surprisingly, it wasn’t even locked. “Okay…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They weaved their way through the dimly-lit hallways, and Paul couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable. He tried to reason with himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe they’re all on a call,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But they wouldn’t leave at least one office behind?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Every room was completely empty, but the phone kept ringing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul eventually got to the last door, but that one was locked. He crouched down to see if a light was on, but it was pitch black in there. “Huh,” he said, trying the doorknob again. It wouldn’t budge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as he took his hand off the knob, he felt someone pull him back by the collar. Startled, Paul stumbled back and glanced up. “What the hell?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then his stomach dropped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was Eric.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dammit!” Paul hissed. He’d forgotten Eric was in training to be an officer. How could he have </span>
  <em>
    <span>forgotten</span>
  </em>
  <span> that? “Eric!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell d’you think you’re doing?” Eric growled, throwing Paul up against the wall. He landed so hard his head stung. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was just looking for John, jackass!” Paul shouted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why d’ya think he’d be </span>
  <em>
    <span>here</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Eric said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul struggled to remember. “I…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eric didn’t give him a chance to finish and pulled a key out of his pocket, unlocking the locked door. He swung it open, and with surprising strength practically threw Paul inside. He landed on some stairs and had to grab onto the railing to avoid sliding all the way down. “And stay down there,” Eric said before slamming the door behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul panted heavily before going back to it, trying to heave it open. Panic made his head spin as he tried to shoulder it open. But it wouldn’t budge. “Shit,” Paul sighed as he looked over his shoulder. It seemed to be some sort of cellar for unused or broken items. There were some boxes and bins scattered around and some shelves, but it was pitch black so he couldn’t be sure. How long would Eric keep him down here for?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Paul remembered James. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“James!” he called as loud as he possibly could. “James!” He threw his fists against the door. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>James</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few moments Paul heard someone walk by. “Paul? Are you in there?” James seemed like he was trying to be quiet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes! Eric threw me in here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I know. I saw him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you </span>
  <em>
    <span>help</span>
  </em>
  <span> me, maybe?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh…” He paused for a beat. “Oh, shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? </span>
  <em>
    <span>What</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, the door swung open again, almost smacking Paul in the face. James fell back onto the stairs, and unfortunately didn’t grab the railing in time. He whacked his head on the hard floor at the end of the staircase with a groan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul glanced back up at Eric and narrowed his eyes. “Let us out of here!” he said, trying to push past him. “What the hell is your problem?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You infiltrated a police station,” Eric snarled like a dog. “I will keep you down here until my superiors figure out what to do with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, we only </span>
  <em>
    <span>infiltrated</span>
  </em>
  <span> because no one was here!” Paul said. “What kinda station is just completely empty like that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eric didn’t answer but shut the door with a bang. Paul sighed and turned around, going down to help James. “Are you alright, son?” he said, crouching down beside him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I’m good…” James sighed as he rubbed his head. “That hurt, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, come on. We need to find some way outta here.” Paul stood back up and looked around. “Maybe they have some sorta crowbar down here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crowbar?” James echoed, puzzled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well...like...confiscated weapons, or somethin’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul sifted around for a bit, but didn’t find a lot. There were some batons in one box that looked pretty new. Paul picked it up and looked over it. “Huh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did you find?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe I can use this,” Paul showed him the baton. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>James nodded. “Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Climbing up the stairs again, Paul looked over the door, trying to figure out how to open it. Maybe the baton was strong enough to make a little hole through it, but Paul didn’t bet a lot on that. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, well. Might as well try anyway.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Heaving it up over his head, Paul shoved it right next to the doorknob, so he could stick his hand through and unlock it. It took a few tries, but eventually the wood started wearing down. “Yeah, there we go,” he said. “It’s working!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gear,” James mumbled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul glanced over at him. “Are you sure you’re okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James scowled. “Uh...no.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t fall asleep,” Paul said. “You might have a concussion or somethin’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mkay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul kept trying to jam the door open. The wood was giving a little bit more now, and eventually a few splinters fell through. Continuing to push, Paul had eventually made a fist-sized hole in the door. He stepped back to admire his work. “Looks pretty good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It does?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Can’t see from down here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Avoiding the splinters, Paul slowly shoved his fist through and grabbed the doorknob on the other side, attempting to swing it open. It didn’t budge. “Dammit. I forgot he had a key.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, what are we supposed to do then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have absolutely no idea.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul turned around, shoving the crowbar through the door again. “Maybe I can just haul the doorknob off and shove it open with my shoulder,” he mused. “You might have to help me with that, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James groaned. “Do I have to?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you really hurt, son?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul scowled. “Well, you’re gonna have to power through for a little. What hurts?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Be more specific.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh…” James’s green gaze scanned the ceiling. “My head’s poundin’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m no doctor, but I think you might have a concussion.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Was I really that stupid?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Paul thought with an exasperated sigh. “You don’t know what that is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it like a head thing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t Da’ teach you this sorta stuff?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Da’ was too busy—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly a massive fist shoved through the hole Paul had made. Yelping, he jumped back and inched down the stairs. That didn’t look like Eric’s hand. Wincing, James scooted to the back wall as the mysterious hand weaved around to the doorknob. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul gave a panicked glance to James, who looked frankly confused. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ssh</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He crept up to the door again, crouched down and looked through the hole. Who he saw surely startled him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was John.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Takedown!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“John!” Paul hissed. “John!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A caramel-colored eye met his. “Macca? Are you in there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah!” Relief washed over Paul like a wave. Maybe they’d get out of here by the end of the night, before they froze to death.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t have time to explain. He could be coming back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eric, who do you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door knob jiggled a bit. “Well, it’s locked. I think he might have had a key,” John murmured. “Hey, maybe I can break the whole thing off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what I was thinking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, well...step back, Macca. Is anyone else down there?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“James. We think he’s hurt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, shit, well...here we go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul got to the bottom stair right as a massive </span>
  <em>
    <span>bump</span>
  </em>
  <span> was heard, and the door caved a bit. “John, I didn’t mean the whole door! Just the doorknob.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay…” The knob began moving and twisting violently before it </span>
  <em>
    <span>snapped</span>
  </em>
  <span> and fell off. “Did I get it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So….now what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just push it open. See if that works.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another bump. “Doesn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, then go back to breaking it down!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My arm’s gonna be sore by the end of the day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just hurry up!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few pushes, John tried kicking. Luckily, that time it worked, and the whole door caved in and fell down the stairs. Paul moved James out of the way as it finally came to a halting stop. John stood at the top of the stairs (very un-hero-like, if you were wondering) and ran a hand through his greased-up hair. “Well. Worked, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, thank god for you, Johnny,” Paul sighed. “You’re a life-saver. Maybe literally.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong with James?” John threw his compliments out the window. “You alright, son?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m alright,” James nodded. “Sort of. Paul said I had a...what was it…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Con</span>
  <em>
    <span>cussion</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, one of those.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We gotta get out of here quickly.” John looked over his shoulder. “Before, ehh...Eric finds ya.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mean us.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The door doesn’t work anymore, though, so it’s not like he can keep us down here,” John pulled James up. “But...still.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on,” Paul shoved him up the stairs as James let out a yelp. “Sorry, son. We’ll be outta here soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ow, </span>
  <em>
    <span>god</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” James whimpered. “Ow…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s alright.” They got to the top of the stairs and very slowly inched out of the doorway. Again, it was completely silent, which wasn’t really on their side. Paul went ahead towards the exit they’d come in from, but John grabbed his arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait. He might be guardin’ it or somethin’,” he said, nodding toward the other way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s no door out that way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Try me, Macca.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul rolled his eyes but followed John anyway. He was beginning to get increasingly uncomfortable, feeling like someone was watching them. He kept checking behind them to make sure Eric wasn’t following. Eventually they got to a back door, and without thinking John shoved it open. Immediately, an alarm sounded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You idiot!” Paul said indignantly. “What the hell?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It didn’t do that when I came in here!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just </span>
  <em>
    <span>go</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” Paul shoved him out the door and ran after him. Instantly they were hit with a dead end. “Dammit, what do we do now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We gotta hide James somewhere. He can’t run.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s nowhere to hide him!” Paul whirled around to face the door and his stomach dropped right through the floor. Eric was hurrying towards them, the discarded crowbar in his hand. Paul glanced over at John, who had the bright idea to shield James. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You two,” Eric seethed. “I should have known you’d get out of there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just move out of the way,” Paul said, deciding that trying to reason with him might be the best way to go. “Don’t do anything that you’re gonna regret, alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t talk down to me!” Eric snapped, and Paul flinched. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re not talkin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>down</span>
  </em>
  <span> to you,” John growled. “We’re just </span>
  <em>
    <span>sayin’</span>
  </em>
  <span> that you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>overreacting</span>
  </em>
  <span>. What do you think you’re gonna do? Kill us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eric stared at them for a moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly. You don’t wanna kill us, now, do you?” Paul tried an easier approach. “Because...well...because you know we’re just going to stop you. So just move out of the way and we won’t speak of this again. Okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can get out of here scott-free,” John added begrudgingly. James’s eyes were wide  as saucers as he looked over John’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eric dropped the crowbar and stepped back. “Fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul looked over at John, surprised that actually worked. They stood there for a moment before Paul tentatively brushed past Eric, expecting a cold, hard punch in the back of his head. He got inside the station and turned around. John and James were still glued to the spot, unsure. “Come on,” he muttered, motioning for them to come. James moved forward but John stood there, staring Eric down. “James, come over here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slinked over like a scared cat, and Paul let him lean on his shoulder. “John. We don’t have all day, son.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, John hesitantly hurried over, still not breaking eye contact with Eric. Paul turned, ready to leave. He didn’t exactly know how he was just going to let Eric off that easy, and he didn’t feel too thrilled about it. But he guessed he’d just have to see—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whirling around, Paul realized with dismay that Eric had (not gone true to his word and) pinned John to the wall. “Dammit Eric!” Paul shouted. “James, stay here!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Running toward Eric, Paul grabbed his collar and tugged him back. But the officer-in-training was much bigger than him and barely stumbled back. Luckily John was no stranger to brawls and started defending himself. Eric dealt John a few punches as Paul kicked him in the shins.</span>
  <em>
    <span> My ankle’s fine now, jerk!</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought triumphantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John, wiping blood from his nose, finally decided to take control and grabbed Eric by the collar and threw him down, slamming him onto the dusty ground. Paul watched as John stood up, giving him an extra kick. “Done now, jackass?” he growled. Eric just groaned in reply. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What on earth is going on here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul glanced up to see a few policemen standing in the doorway, looking wildly confused. “Clague?” one of them came over and stood over Eric. “What are you doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He locked us in the cellar,” James offered weakly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it’s true,” Paul nodded. “He’s been...er...terrorizin’ us. For a long time now.” He glanced over at John, who just glared down at Eric like he was something on the bottom of his shoe. “Gave James a concussion.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clague? Is this true?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eric looked like he was about to lie, but he must have decided there was no way out of this one. “Er...yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He was prob’ly gonna kill us if John hadn’t been here,” Paul added, and John flashed him a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two officers helped Eric to his feet. “This is unacceptable, Clague,” the other one said. “You’re hereby terminated from the training program and arrested for assault.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eric’s eyes grew wide for a moment before he was hauled off. The head officer stayed with John and Paul. “Are you two boys okay? He didn’t hurt you too bad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, nah. Except for James.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The officer smiled. “We’ll get that taken care of.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>✦✦✦✦</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sun was slowly going down as the bus pulled up beside 20 Forthlin Road. Paul let James lean on his shoulder as it pulled off. “Alright, son. You okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James smiled as he held the pack of ice against his head. “Yeah, I think I’ll be fine till I get inside.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul leaned against the mailbox as James stopped. “Okay. Well...take care of yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James’s green eyes flashed with worry. “Paul? Is this the last time I’m gonna ever see you?” he said, suddenly sounding like a little kid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul glanced over his shoulder at John, who shrugged unassumingly. Then he looked back at James. “Yeah, probably,” he said, not knowing how else to put it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James stared at him for a while before sniffing. “I’m gonna miss ya,” he said, coming in to hug Paul. “It’s gonna be weird...not havin’ you around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it is.” Paul nodded. “But it won’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> be the last time I’ll see you, you know that, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James glanced up at him. “Huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Every time you look in the mirror, son!” Paul grinned. “That’s me. It’s you, but it’s me. Every time you see your reflection, it’s me lookin’ back at you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James sniffed. “But it won’t really be you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it will.” Paul crouched down so he was at eye level with James. “This is gonna sound cocky, since we’re the same person and all, but...you’re gonna do great things one day, James. I just know you are. I want you to have the most fun you possibly can, and don’t look back for a second.” He couldn’t help but start smiling. “You’re gonna meet some great people and go on some great trips. You’ll have so many stories to tell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James grinned back, wiping his eyes. “I can’t wait.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you can’t, son,” Paul said. “But you’ve only got...what...about four years left till it all starts to get good. Can you wait that long?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James shrugged. “I guess.” Then he winced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, you’ve gotta get inside,” Paul said. “Go on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James came in for one last hug before pulling back. “Goodbye,” he said with a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bye, kiddo.” Paul watched as James hurried around to the back door and disappeared. He sighed, putting his hands in his pockets. He already missed him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Turning around, he faced John. “Ready to go home now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I guess.” Paul kicked a pebble as they began walking down the sidewalk. “We have to see how life’s gonna be different now that Stu and Julia are alive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Can’t wait,” John smiled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul sighed, staring up at the clear sky. He could still be in that cellar now if it weren’t for John. “Hey, hold on...how did you know we were in there?” he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John laughed.. “To be honest, I didn’t,” he said. “I was comin’ into that station to look for Eric. I was gonna give him a taste of his own medicine, and then I heard you guys talkin’ in there, and...well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul stared over at him. “You’re a hero, y’know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John scoffed. “Pssh. Not hardly.” He glanced down at the ground. “Y’know, Macca...I’m really sorry for how I got pissed at you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well I’m sorry for not telling you what Eric was gonna do in the first place,” Paul said back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ehh, it wasn’t right for me to abandon you back in ‘61, though. Especially with a broken ankle,” John ran a hand through his hair. “I can be a real asshole sometimes, can’t I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul grinned. “We both can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John laughed and put his arm around Paul’s shoulder. “Heh. You’re not taller than me yet, eh?” he said cheekily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul playfully swatted at John’s face, laughing. “Shut up!”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Humble Endings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>As they finally landed back in 1966, Paul was getting tired of all the tripping. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I really have to get that crack fixed,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought as he shook the sleep off. He went over to John and shook him awake. “C’mon, son. Get up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” John muttered. “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Cause your mum’s alive, remember?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John’s eyes flew open. “Right! Right.” He sat up and shook himself off. “Yeah, feels good to be back in my normal body again, ehh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mhm.” Paul stood up and swayed a bit. “So where d’ya think Stu lives now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still with Astrid, probably,” John said. “Maybe they have a baby. They said they wanted one, but...he died before they could, er…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Want to give him a call?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John nodded. “Yeah!” He got up and went over to the door. Paul followed and unlocked it. Inside it was quiet, so Jane must have been asleep. John made a beeline for the phone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you still know the number?” Paul said, leaning against the wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John laughed. “What do you think, Macca?” Picking up the phone he practically jammed the numbers in and held it giddily to his ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few rings, Stu picked up. “Yea?” He sounded tired.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Stu.” John’s grin was brighter than the sun.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s like 10 o’clock, why are you callin’ me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just to say hello.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stu snorted. “You’re insane, Lennon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What have you been paintin’ recently?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were on the phone yesterday. I told you. I’m doin’ a portrait of Lina...if she’ll sit still for long enough,” Stu said. John gave Paul a puzzled glance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lina?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My...</span>
  <em>
    <span>daughter</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John grinned again. “Sorry, just had to be sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stu laughed. “How long has it been since you slept?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nine years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Technically not a lie,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Paul thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well...go to bed. Call me in the morning when you remember my name.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bye, Stu.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bye.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John put the phone down and sighed. “Wow. So he’s really happy with Astrid, then. And he’s got a little girl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, I heard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wonder if her and Julian will be friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, me too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John sighed again. “Well. Now what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you wanna call Julia too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John stared at him, eyes round. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John shrugged, suddenly looking very sheepish. “It’s just that...I haven’t heard her voice in eight years, and…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul’s shoulders dropped. “It’s okay, Johnny. Do it when you’re ready.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John stood there for a bit longer before finally picking up the phone. “Okay. Well...I guess...let’s do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John stared down at it like it wasn’t real. “Don’t know her number,” he mumbled all of the sudden.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s probably the same.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John hesitantly dialed the number. Paul stood close, wanting to hear. The phone rang a few times before a haunting voice answered. “Hello?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Julia?” John sounded hollow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, hello, John!” Julia sounded thrilled. “How are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John looked like he was about to pass out. “You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>alive</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he said. “You’re really real, it’s really you…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” Julia said. “Are you alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John smiled, running his sleeve across his face. “Yeah, Julia, I just…” He glanced up at Paul for a moment. “Had a nightmare. Where you weren’t...er...I just had to make sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julia laughed. “Oh, well...yes. I’m alive,” she said. “Oh, Jackie wants to say hello. Come here, darling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul went into the kitchen as John said hello to his sister. Wandering into the kitchen, he looked toward a certain photograph on the table. Easing down into a chair, he stared down at his own mother. As John was talking to Julia, Mary would forever be behind the frame glass. Paul could never talk to </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> on the phone. He’d never know how proud she was of him. As hot tears filled his eyes, he blinked them back, looking over at John.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew it wasn’t fair. But...it was right. John loved Julia. When she died back in 1958, it had broken him. His mental health had been permanently damaged, and even now that she was alive, he would still never really recover from how that felt. But at least now he had her. And Stu. And in the future...Brian wouldn’t die. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> wouldn’t die, and George wouldn’t die. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul had not only saved John, but himself. Sure, there would be hard times ahead that time traveling couldn’t fix. And sure, Paul probably wouldn’t be able to find the same happiness John could, but...hopefully he could find some </span>
  <em>
    <span>like</span>
  </em>
  <span> it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t help but think of James. That kid was so lucky. He would never have to experience the same pain and loss Paul did for decades to come. All he had to look forward to was a good time and then global fame. Paul glanced out the window. He hoped James was doing okay now...wherever he was. Or...</span>
  <em>
    <span>when</span>
  </em>
  <span>ever he was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodnight, Jackie. Night, Julia.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul looked over at John as he got to the doorway. “They’re okay.” He sounded relieved. “Everyone’s okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul stared him for a while.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul shook his head and smiled. “Yeah. Yeah...I’m okay. I’m okay. I’ll...be okay.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Woo we finally done! Sorry for the egregiously long waits between chapters, but I'm glad I finally finished this! Thanks for all your comments and kudos, as usual, they are very appreciated. Thanks for taking this ride with me! -Blue 🍋</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey there folks, welcome back to another time travel fic. My previous one was very well-liked so I thought...why not give it another addition? Hope you enjoyed this short little introductory chapter, more will come soon! 🍋</p></blockquote></div></div>
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